


The Definition of Insanity

by Anacharis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Humor, Bottom Harry Potter, Continual Respawn, Crack Treated Seriously, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Graphic Violence, Harry Cannot Die, Horcrux Reversal, M/M, Making Tom Human Again, Master of Death, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Repeatedly Gory Deaths, Rough Sex, Sadist Tom Riddle, Size Kink, Soul Magic, The Deathly Hallows, Top Tom Riddle, masochist Harry Potter, non-negotiated BDSM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-18 22:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13690809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anacharis/pseuds/Anacharis
Summary: An infinitesimal change at Malfoy Manor results in the early discovery that Harry has become Master of Death. What will the Boy Who Lived do with Death itself as an ally? Haunt the Dark Lord like a fucking ghost and cram humanity down his throat, of course.A sexy black comedy.





	1. As You Run Through My Jungles All You Hear Is Rumbles (Everybody Knows I'm a Motherfuckin' Monster)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first fic on AO3. I've got a few longer works in progress, but this is my "fun" project to work on in my downtime.
> 
> My inspiration for this story is one of my favorite movies, The Edge of Tomorrow. If you know this film, you get the gist of where this is going and the potential for hilarity that hopefully ensues.
> 
> The warnings are up there, but let me repeat:  
> The first half of this fic is heavy on the death and violence. I'd like to think that I've cut scenes at tasteful moments, as I'm not much into torture myself, but there is certainly a possibility that this will hit on your squick.  
> The second half of this fic is heavy on the smut, most of which is quite non-consensual and probably somewhat violent. While these types of situations are horrible in real life, it is fun and sexy to explore these themes in this context, or at least I so believe. If you disagree, I apologize that this work isn't to your tastes.
> 
> I've got the bulk of this outlined, drafted, or polished already. My plan at the moment is to post one chapter a week after the first 2-3, but that could go faster or slower depending on a few factors. Kudos, comments, and bookmarks are great inspiration, you know! I'll keep you all updated.
> 
> Lastly, I'd like to mention that JKR is my hero. Without her brilliance my life would be pointless and this fic wouldn't exist.

_Everybody wanna know what my Achilles' heel is:_

_Love, I don't get enough of it._

_All I get are these vampires and bloodsuckers,_

_All I see are these fake fucks with no fangs_

_Tryna draw blood from my ice cold veins._

_(Are my eyes more red than the Devil is?)_

_I smell a massacre._

"Monster" Kanye West ft. JAY-Z, Rick Ross, Bon Iver, & Nicki Minaj

 

 

 

 

 

_Criiiiick. Criiiick. Criiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick._

 

For a single solitary second, every figure in the room froze. Multiple sets of eyes strained upward to find the source of the metallic grating somewhere near the high ceiling.

When the great gold and crystal chandelier shook, various breathes were taken in and held.

There was an ear-splitting _screeeeeach_ of finality, and gravity brought it down. Reality swept back into motion in double-time and many things happened at once.

 

Bellatrix let out an inhuman scream of fury and dove for cover just as the chandelier crashed to the floor in a twist of metal and an explosion of crystal.

 

"Hermione!" Ron yelled, and sprinted for the wreckage.

"You!" Narcissa gasped, eyes near comically wide, wand pointed at a grimly triumphant Dobby.

Harry charged toward Draco. The other boy was doubled over, wiping frantically with bloody fingers at the crystal shrapnel embedded in his eyes. Slamming bodily into him, Harry easily wrest the three wands out of his slackened grip as the blonde boy fell to the floor still cupping his face. Narcissa cried out in dismayed terror and rushed to her son's side as Harry sprung away again.

"You will not hurt Harry Potter! Dobby has come to save him," the little elf squeaked defiantly in the face of Bellatrix's spitting rage.

 

A fiery lash seemed to come out of nowhere and split the raven-haired wizard's skull right down the center. The Chosen One's vision swam and he grimaced against the searing pain, but he couldn't afford to slow down. Harry could feel _him_ getting steadily closer, and knew that he was very, _very_ angry. They had only scant moments left.

 

"Ron, catch!" Harry shouted, tossing him two of the wands. They clattered to the floor next to where the ginger teen knelt with an unconscious Hermione and bleeding Griphook.

Bellatrix whipped around, dismissing the house elf for now. The feverish gleam in her eyes fell to Harry's friends as Ron scrabbled with shaking fingers for the spare wands. Despite not having a wand herself, the rabid woman moved with single-minded intent. Snarling ferociously, the Death Eater raised the silver dagger high above her head.

"DOBBY!" Harry bellowed, voice breaking with heart-stopping panic. "Take them and come back for me! NOW!"

 

_Crack!_

Time seemed to slow as Dobby rematerialized across the room. Ron and the goblin reached out and grabbed the elf's outstretched arm, but Harry's eyes, fixed as they were on Bellatrix, were widening in horror.

Flinging her arm forward like the crack of a whip, the witch released the knife. It spun in hypnotizing silver rotations as Harry tracked it's progress across the room.

Dobby reached down with one hand and gripped Hermione's shoulder. The long spindly fingers of the other hand snapped together, and space started to warp and wrap around the little group.

 

 _'No!'_ Harry's mind screamed.

They weren't going to make it.

Adrenaline raced through his veins and there was a buzzing sound in his ears. The Boy Who Lived raised his wand arm, but his muscles felt painfully slow on the uptake. Harry Potter stood helpless by as the cursed blade plunged into the rapidly coalescing matter that was his friends.

 

And then he was alone.

 

Bellatrix threw back her curly black head and let out an ear-piercing cackle.

"NOOO!" Harry screamed.

 _'No, no, no, no, no!'_ his mind chanted disbelievingly. ' _Dobby will be back. They're fine!'_ he told himself with hollow words.

But it was too late, and Dobby didn't come back.

 

Agony, the likes of which he hadn't encountered since that fateful night in the Department of Mysteries, lanced through the young wizard's body. The stolen wand slipped from limp fingers and Harry buckled heavily onto the shard-strewn marble floor. Curling into himself, it was all the boy could do to clutch at his head as blood started to seep from the cursed scar on his brow.

A thunderous _boom_ preceded the Dark Lord in all of his murderous rage.

Bellatrix's laughter cut off with an abrupt choke, and she threw herself prostrate onto the floor. Narcissa covered Draco's prone form as though to shield him with her own body. Lucius and Greyback didn't move, still lying unconscious in glittering heaps amongst the rubble.

 

Silence reigned for a long moment in which Harry could only squeeze his eyes shut and try not to retch. His scar felt like a gaping wound in his skull, such was Lord Voldemort's fury and proximity.

As the dust settled, the temperature in the room plummeted.

 

"Harrrry Potttter..."

 

Hearing that cold rasping voice caused goosepimples to break out on the back of Harry's neck and arms. Shifting onto his hands and knees, the raven-haired teen slowly raised his head, looking up through the rivulets of warm blood that streaked down his nose and into his mouth.

 _'Stall for time,'_ he thought to himself, mind whirling in desperation.

However, if Harry thought that he could come up with an escape plan during his enemy's inevitable monologue--perhaps bide his time until Dobby could return for him--he was sorely mistaken.

 

Without any ado whatsoever, Voldemort's lipless mouth curled, half sneer and half snarl, as he raised his yew wand.

 

"Avada Kadevra!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Blinking rapidly, Harry tried to clear the fog from his blurry eyes. When that didn't work he brought up his hand to rub at them and found his glasses to be missing.

"Great," he grumbled, sitting up.

Looking down, he started and clamped his arms down in front of him. He was, somehow, entirely nude.

When nothing else happened, the young raven wizard began examining himself for clues and soon became oddly absorbed in the task. He noted for the first time things like the whorls in his fingertips and the fine, nearly translucent hairs on his thighs--small details he'd never been able to see before. Apparently he didn't need his glasses anymore.

Harry looked about, puzzled. It wasn't his eyes that were blurry, it was the world around him.

A bright white mist swirled lazily about him, and vague shapes drifted in and out of sight in the distance as he watched. A high glass domed ceiling, golden handrails off to his left, a simple wooden bench just in front of him. He sat on a wide open marble platform that was vaguely reminiscent of King's Cross.

 

The hair on his arms prickled warningly when a harsh rattle and wet thump broke the soft muted silence. Green eyes narrowed on the bench, or rather, what lay  _under_ the bench.

Rocking forward onto his hands, Harry shuffled the few feet forward on his knees to peek at the small shadowed form.

He gasped and jerked back slightly.

It was like a babe, but mutilated and  _wrong_. Blood and other viscous fluids coated the thing's twisted purple body. Lying limply on the stone floor, it crackled and trembled, struggling to draw breath.

Disgusted yet concerned, Harry reached out hesitantly and brushed his knuckles against the infant's side. It whimpered and it's head flopped in Harry's direction, swollen face pinched in apparent agony.

The young man bit his lip, deliberating, before gently scooping the poor creature into his arms. He suppressed a shudder as its slimy flesh came in contact with his bare chest.

"Shhh," he whispered to it, settling himself onto the bench.

 

He wondered what was wrong with the baby, and how he could help it. Perhaps he could find a healer? But then again, he didn't know exactly where he was, and everything just seemed  _off._

Recalling a pair of furious red-slitted eyes and an ominous flash of green light, Harry wondered if maybe he was in the afterlife.

"Am I dead?" he asked the child cradled in his arms. It burrowed it's smooshed little faced into the crook of his arm and seemed to be breathing a little easier now.

 

"Yes and no," came a voice wispy like the wind.

 

Harry jolted and looked up to find a rapidly growing black hole a few meters in front of him. He observed with trepidation as it rippled and darkened, a harsh disparity against the ethereal white landscape. The void twisted and finally settled into the shape of a tall cloaked figure.

Perhaps he ought to have been scared, but it was difficult to feel any emotion too strongly with that opaque mist swaddling him like insulating cotton.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, tilting his head curiously at the hooded apparition.

 

"Death," it hissed, like the rustling of fallen leaves. The shroud of its blackened aura drew up around it in a way that seemed rather self-important.

 

"So I am dead then?" Harry checked, absently rocking the babe.

"You did indeed die, Harry Potter, but you are not dead," Death replied cryptically, gliding a bit closer. Harry scooted over to one side of the bench, but the other ignored the invitation.

Death leaned forward, appearing to study the raven for a moment before elaborating, "You are the first and only to unite my Hallows."

 

Harry's eyes bulged in their socket and he goggled for a few seconds before abruptly jumping to his feet and shouting, "Hah!" He jabbed a victorious finger at Death.

The child in his arms began to fuss and writhe again. "Sorry, sorry!" he whispered loudly, hoisting it onto his shoulder and lightly patting it's bum in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

"Wait," he began after the baby calmed once more. "That doesn't make any sense. I have the cloak, and I'm pretty sure I've got the stone too. What about the Elder Wand?"

"The Deathstick passed through many hands before it came to you," the maleficent figure explained. "Gellert Grindewald, Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy..."

"Woah," Harry interrupted with a little shake of his head, holding out a palm. He mulled over the information while Death waited patiently for him to connect the dots. He thought about his recent visions, and of that terrible night on the astronomy tower. "Do you mean to tell me that Dumbledore mastered the wand when he defeated Grindewald, and then it went to Malfoy when he disarmed Dumbledore?"

Death bowed its cowled head in affirmation.

"But I never-" he cut himself off, mind whirling with new information. "I disarmed Malfoy!" Simply swiping the ferret's wand out of his sweaty fingers seemed a bit like cheating, but he'd take what he could get. Harry threw his head back and laughed, albeit a little maniacally.

"I'm the Master of Death!" he crowed to the misty sky.

Harry winced and hushed, "sorry, sorry," again as the infant let out a piteous whine and scrabbled at his shoulder with tiny nubby fingers. He covered it's ear with the palm not supporting the thing's little bum to shield it from further outbursts.

 

"You are  _not_ my master," Death corrected sharply. Its aura darkened impossibly more, the surrounding ambient light sucked into its void like fuel on a fire. "You have mastered only your own death. Though," it paused and tilted it's head, contemplating the boy before it, "I may be persuaded to aide you."

"Why would you help me if I am not your master?" Harry asked somewhat suspiciously.

Death moved forward to hover directly in front of the young man. It raised an arm slowly, and the voluminous tattered sleeve slipped down just far enough to reveal bleached bone. A skeletal finger traced smoothly against Harry's jaw. He and the little one in his arms shivered simultaneously, veins turned to ice water. The sensation was much, much worse than accidentally walking through a ghost.

Allowing its arm to drop, Death backed slightly away, for which Harry was grateful.

"Death is... lonely," it answered in a barely-there whisper. Harry wasn't sure if it was speaking conceptually now, or in the third person. Death spoke again before he could ask. "What a curious new predicament you are," the robed figure continued in a much lighter tone, or at least as light as was possible for Death itself.

 

"I'm going to be honest," Harry admitted flatly after an awkward moment of silence. "I have no idea what the hell is happening right now. I'm fairly certain I've lost my mind, actually." He settled himself back on the bench with a sigh. Shifting the finally resting child into a more comfortable position and crossing his ankles, Harry peered around the empty space as if searching for answers.

 

"Sooo..." Harry jiggled his toes and tried to settle on one of a billion questions. "You're not a myth then?"

"Obviously not," came the dry reply, the drawl horrendously Snape-like.

"Right, 'course" Harry nodded. "So you gave my ancestors your Hallows, and now somehow or other I have them," he reiterated. "And now I am the Master of Death, but not  _really_ your master. Do I get any special super powers then?"

"Beyond the inability to die, perfect invisibility, the ability the raise the dead, and an all-powerful wand? No."

 

"Hmmm," Harry responded noncommittally, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. He felt very tired all of a sudden, which he would have figured as impossible seeing as he was already slightly dead. "I guess it's not the same if I have all three Hallows without  _actually having_  them."

Long ivory digits suddenly dug into the bare flesh over top of Harry's heart, and he yelped in surprise. Looking down crossly, green eyes widened to see dark lines sweep out under his skin from the point at which Death's fingertips made contact. Inky black spread in a cross on his chest before branching mid-pectorally and again just below the apex of his collar bone. A crisp circle completed the otherwise angular design.

Harry's questing fingers replaced Death's as he wonderingly explored what was apparently his new tattoo.

"The Deathly Hallows," he breathed, tracing the symbol.

"They are a part of you now. If you have need of them, you will have them," Death said.

 

Harry didn't think that that made much sense either, but he simply shrugged and thought about the Elder Wand. Without even knowing what it looked like, Harry wished it into existence. The thick vertical line bisecting his chest shone briefly gold, and there it was.

Harry held the Wand of Destiny in a trembling hand.

 

"Woah," he croaked out. Turning the knobbly white length of wood reverently in his palm, dark brows drew together. He'd seen this wand somewhere before...

Of course. Dumbledore.

"Ah!" he yelped, and dropped it on the floor with a clatter. After a moment it faded into the mist.

"Did you  _steal_ that from Dumbledore's grave?" he squawked.

Death waved a ghoulish hand dismissively. "I and my Hallows will always be with you. You shall never suffer death, Harry Potter, only return here briefly while your earthly vessel is restored. It is almost time to go back now."

"Wait!" Harry pleaded. "I have so many more questions!"

"Call for me, and I will answer," was all it said before the surrounding mist began to swirl and fade.

Harry held the malformed babe securely in his arms as the bench vanished right out from under him and he began to fall backwards.


	2. In the Mean, Mean Time I'm Just Dreaming of Tearing You Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things finally get interesting. Remember kiddies, there is a tinsy itsy bit of gore ahead (depending on your definition of tinsy itsy, if such a thing exists).
> 
> A few notes to go with this story:  
> There will be line breaks. After reading this chapter, you should have a pretty good idea of when and why they happen. I won't say this will always be the case, but for now let's just say they signify changes in plane of existence.  
> Also, I have tinkered with Harry's personality a bit. He's still the reckless savior we all know and love, but I've made him a bit sharper and snarkier. It adds to the fun, in my opinion. Hopefully any alterations came off naturally and he is still entirely recognizable as a character.
> 
> I should probably mention that I haven't got a beta, so any mistakes are mine. If I've missed something, simply let me know and I shall fix it if it does indeed require fixing.
> 
> Feedback of any kind is always much appreciated.

_Careful making making wishes in the dark, dark,_

_Can't be sure when they've hit their mark, mark._  

_I'm in the d-details with the devil._

_I just gotta get you out of your cage._

_I got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could see_

_That you're the antidote to everything except for me._

_I'm gonna need a spark to ignite._

"Light 'Em Up" Fall Out Boy 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry's body jolted as if electrified. He opened his mouth to take a deep gasping breath.

His eyes bulged and he began thrashing in earnest when there was no air to be had.

 

Trying to bring his hands up to his throat, Harry realized that he was somehow bound with his arms clamped to his sides. Though his eyes were wide enough that the whites showed all around, he could see nothing. Slick squishy material pressed against him from all sides, literally smothering him.

Unable to draw enough breath to scream for help, the raven did the best he could against the crushing force, clawing feebly and aiming wild stunted kicks.

His cocoon-like cell began to writhe and pulse around him, and his panic grew along with the light-headedness brought about by his oxygen-starved state.

 

Lungs aching and senses dimming, he flailed weakly as a burning pain pierced his calf and then again as it centered in his thighs and buttocks.  Flaming daggers sliced their way up his torso, causing his eyes to roll back in agony. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, his flesh was being torn apart... and suddenly he was free.

 

Wet face pressed against a cold surface, Harry loudly gulped in mouthful after mouthful of sweet heavenly oxygen. He pulled his arms into his chest and trembled as his chest heaved and his head swam.

Disoriented to the extreme and more than a little panicked, Harry pressed his palms to the ground and hauled himself up and over onto his burning backside.

 

Avada green eyes opened and froze. Harry's gasping breath died in his stuttering chest.

The broad head of an enormous serpent hovered not a meter in front of his own. It's grotesquely slack jaw twisted and popped as it was worked back into the proper position, mucousy yellow bile dripping from its distended mouth. Harry looked directly into glittering narrow-slitted pupils and gulped.

Nagini.

 

"ARGHHH!"

 

He screamed out in terror as she struck him like a full-speed freight train. Dozens of eight centimeter long fangs sunk into his shoulder and injected molten fire into his veins. Rear-facing needle-like spears ripped through muscle and sinew as she pulled away.

 

 _"STOP!"_ he hissed at her in the serpent's tongue, scuttling backwards like crab, but in a split second the gargantuan snake struck again. White hot agony lanced through his ribcage, and then again in his shoulder.

 _"NO!"_ His throat threatened to tear open as he screamed and hissed while she continued to smash him into the flagstones with the brute force of her attacks.

 

 _'Wand_ ,' his fearful and adrenaline-addled mind screeched, and suddenly it was there in his hand.

"STUPEFY!" Harry bellowed, and Nagini's body slammed against the opposite wall with enough force that the stone cracked. All dozen feet of raging viper crumpled into a twitching heap a few feet away.

 

_Thunk._

The back of Harry's skull cracked against the floor with enough force to bounce, but he scarcely felt it. His breath felt constricted again, reduced to rapid shallow pants. Limbs like dead weights, the Elder Wand slipped from his quickly numbing fingers. He tasted blood at the back of his throat and knew that it leaked from punctures across his torso.

The lava in his veins began to cool just as the edges of the his vision gained a hazy black halo. Green eyes stared unblinkingly at the dim ceiling. Each gasp was more difficult than the last.

 

The last thing Harry Potter saw before he slipped away was a pair of red eyes and a would-be comical expression of dismayed horror.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"That was fast," a raspy voice drawled. "Eighty-nine seconds, to be precise. And regurgitated by a giant snake--how novel."

Harry blinked and looked down at his bare and perfectly intact body, then gazed bemusedly around. He was back on the bench in King's Cross exactly how he'd very recently left it.

 

"Am I always going to be naked?" Death did not respond.

He rubbed Frankenstein baby's slimy back.

"Alright, how long have we got?" Harry asked determinedly.

"It will be a few minutes before all of the venom can be purged from your corpse and all of the damage healed," Death replied lackadaisically.

"Excellent. Still up for helping me?"

Death wandered about the platform, observing the surroundings with a mild curiosity. "This does seem like such a fascinating game, after all. What do you have in mind?"

 

"Well," he began. "My body is trapped in an unknown location with the Dark Lord and his rather terrifying familiar. I'm a little indisposed at the moment, and I'm quite sure he's planning something nasty as we speak. He'll probably torture me for information and break into my mind with Legillimency." He ticked each point off on his fingers as he thought aloud. "I can't let that happen. He can't know that we've been hunting his horcruxes yet."

The wraith-like figure hummed noncommittally from somewhere behind the bench Harry was seated on. The raven took that as a sign to go on.

"I'm pants at Occlumency, but that could just be because Snape is a shite teacher. Any chance I could learn in the next few minutes?" he prompted hopefully.

"No."

Harry groaned and let his head fall back with a dull  _thud_. "So I'm screwed then?"

"Not precisely."

 

Cool ivory fingers scraped disturbingly across Harry's scalp. A chill wracked his body and he clutched the resting babe closely.

"What was that?" he asked as Death drew away again.

"I  _helped_ , as you requested," it intoned. "I've instilled a few barriers of my own around your mind. They will be impenetrable, for all intents and purposes, and you need only ask to have them removed."

"I don't feel any different."

"You won't. Perhaps they will even assist in ridding you of that pesky problem with your scar when he is near," Death said.

Harry twisted around to grin over his shoulder. "Wicked! Thank you. Suspiciously easy, though..."

"It was my  _pleasure_ , Harry Potter," and Harry really couldn't tell if Death was being facetious or not.

 

"Great, so that's taken care of," he said, settling back in. "What about-"

"Time's up," Death cut in abruptly.

Harry fell.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Green eyes snapped open and he sucked in a breath harshly. Shaking his head in a rather dog-like manner and looking around, Harry passively wondered if returning from the dead would always be this disorienting.

The room was dimly lit by only a crackling fire in a modest grate to the left. Worn stone made up the floors, walls, and ceiling with heavy wooden beam accents and supports, making Harry think that he must be in an older structure, though certainly not still Malfoy manner. The place had the slightly run-down feel of infrequent use.

A large dark mahogany desk sat directly in front of Harry, and behind it a window through which he could see the setting sun. Bookcases to his right held hundreds of dusty tomes. Other than a few odds and ends, the space was sparsely decorated.

 

Harry glanced down at himself to get his bearings and gulped audibly. He was tied to a rudimentary chair in none but his trousers; he could even feel a threadbare carpet beneath his bare toes. Testing the bonds, he found no give. Thick bands crisscrossed his chest and abdomen, knotted excessively at his wrists as they folded behind his back.

 

"Harrrry Potttter..." a forebodingly familiar voice hissed behind him.

 

The young wizard ceased his fruitless fidgeting and whipped his head around fast enough that his neck cracked.

"What an...unpleasant sssurprise this isss," Voldemort commented as he strode slowly around into Harry's line of sight. His crimson gaze narrowed coldly on the boy bound in the center of the room.

 

"Hello Tom," Harry said in a tone a little more calm than he actually felt. Regardless of his inability to die, his heart was pounding fearfully in his chest. At least, quite mercifully, his scar wasn't burning; Death was right about that.

"Crucio," drawled Voldemort lazily as he flicked his wand at Harry.

Pain exploded through his nervous system and encompassed his entire world. It lasted only a single second, a warning of sorts, but it ended none too soon. Harry felt a sheen of sweat break out across his entire body.

 

"Nagini wasss most... _dissspleased_ that she was unable to enjoy her much anticipated meal," the man, or perhaps monster, continued as though uninterrupted. He reached the desk and leaned back against the edge, crossing his arms.

"Give her my condolences, won't you?" Harry panted.

Voldemort was not amused. There was a moment of silence where each man intensely regarded the other. Harry was fairly certain he was attempting Legillimency, but couldn't be sure; he felt nothing but the needling sensation of Voldemort's eyes boring into his own.

 

"Tell me,  _Harrry_ " the Dark Lord finally asked in a falsely conversational tone. "Why have you the mark of Grindewald on your chest?"

Harry took a moment to contemplate his answer. In the end he decided it didn't much matter if his enemy knew of his unique new circumstances. He took a deep breath and gathered what bravery he could muster.

 

"What's the matter, Tom, you hunted a Hallow without even  _knowing_ what it truly was?" His Gryffindor courage inappropriately reared it's mighty head, and Harry threw his nemesis a condescending smirk.

Red eyes flashed menacingly. "Crucio."

It lasted only three seconds this time, but it might as well have been a lifetime. Harry gritted his teeth so hard his molars creaked in warning.

Another stupid decision: Harry let out a mocking laugh, though it did sound an awful lot like choking. "Too good to read children's stories, Tom?"

 

"CRUCIO," Voldemort snarled, launching out of his repose and thrusting his wand at Harry's heart.

It must have been at least ten seconds, but the raven felt a sick sense of satisfaction at not having screamed. He could taste blood.

 

"How. Is. This. Possible?" The Dark Lord seethed. Spidery pasty hands curled into even whiter claw-tipped fists at his sides.

There were several moments where Harry could only gasp for breath. When he spoke it came out as more of a croak. "I am the owner of the Deathly Hallows. I am the Master of Death."

Looking Voldemort directly in the eye, chest heaving, he rumbled rebelliously, "I cannot die."

 

Rage gradually dwindled to leave behind a blank mask. Voldemort cocked his head to the side in an oddly discomfiting gesture of speculation. Harry suddenly had a very bad feeling about his decision to reveal this information to his enemy.

"Is that so...?" the man murmured, prowling languidly forward. He stopped in front of his bound victim, close enough to touch, and leaned forward to whisper sinisterly in the boy's ear. "Shall we test this theory?"

 

Unyielding yew ground into Harry's ribs.

The lipless mouth caressed each consonant in a sibilant hiss against the shell of his ear. "Exviscera."

 

A gut-wrenching hook behind his navel caused Harry to jerk in his confines and furrow his brow in confusion. Voldemort stepped back with a foreboding smirk.

"Wha-" he began, but the question ended with a choked gurgle.

The sensation began with the tell-tale feel of a Portkey, but continued to grow in magnitude and discomfort. His insides seemed to twist and contort within his belly as if someone were tugging on them with increasing strength.

"Ahh!" Harry cried, doubling over as far as the ropes would allow. Acid filled his gut cavity and burned with a fiery vengeance all the way up his esophagus and into his mouth. He spat between his knees and watched in horror as blood-streaked bile strung from his lips.

White-hot knives sliced up his insides and Harry screamed again. The wretched sounds of agony were cut short as a solid mass made its way up and out. Muscles locked and straining, his whole body heaved.

Bloody pink tissue splattered the floor at Harry's feet, and the world went black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"One hundred eighty two seconds this time. You're getting marginally better at this."

"Ugh," Harry groaned, rubbing at his stomach. The all-consuming anguish of a moment ago seemed to echo dully like a memory. "What  _was_ that?"

"Entrail-Expelling Curse," Death replied, and Harry would be damned if it didn't sound almost  _happy_ about that. "Very creative," the wraith offered, confirming his theory.

"I never want to do that again," he moaned, slumping sideways with his freakish bloody baby and curling into the fetal position on the now-familiar bench. Nestling the infant safely with one forearm, he curled the other under his head as a makeshift pillow.

 

They waited in silence for a full minute before Harry sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up into the roiling mist that mostly obscured the domed glass ceiling. "Sooo..." he searched for a question. "What does this stone do, exactly?"

Holding out a fist, the circle embedded in his chest shimmered softly. His fingers opened to reveal a small shiny black stone. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows was etched in fine gold lines on its smooth surface.

 

"The Resurrection Stone is an immensely powerful and intricate piece of soul magic, if I do say so myself," Death began smugly. "Souls may be separated from the body and manipulated in certain ways, but they can never truly be destroyed. By turning the stone thrice, you may summon any unfettered soul to you."

"Wait, wait, wait," Harry interrupted, as was customary at this point. "You're going to have to elaborate. How can souls be manipulated? What exactly is an  _unfettered_ soul? And maybe I'm going crazy--actually, I'm dead sure I'm crazy--but what have I been doing all this time if I haven't been  _destroying_ bits of Voldemort's soul?"

"Unfettered souls have been freed of their vessels. They are no longer bound to the earth, and as such, belong to me," Death explained. "Mortal beings die when their vessels degrade to the point that they can no longer house the soul. For the most part this event is permanent, except under specific circumstances. Voldemort is a good example: he manipulated his soul by splitting it into fragments and safeguarding the pieces in near-indestructible vessels. If a vessel is destroyed, such as when you stabbed Tom Riddle's diary with the basilisk fang, that soul shard merely passes into my care."

"Woah, pause," the raven said, head reeling. "Are you saying that when I use the Resurrection Stone, whatever bit of soul I want goes from you to me?"

"To borrow, essentially. The soul will remain present in the living realm until you disperse it."

"So it's like a ghost then?" he said, thinking of the apparitions in the graveyard. Death bowed its hooded head.

 

"Hmmm. Does a vessel always have to be destroyed for the soul to be released?" Harry asked. "Can't it be restored?"

"An interesting question. In the case of Dementors," Death continued with a tone of distaste, "they are able to use their own form of soul magic to pull the soul from an intact vessel and consume it."

"So you don't get to keep those ones?" Harry clarified, mildly aghast.

"No. The foul creatures steal what is rightfully mine," the cloaked being hissed venomously. Death's charred aura roiled in anger.

"So if someone suffered the Dementor's Kiss, I wouldn't be able to call them with the stone?" he asked.

"No. They are lost to us."

 

Harry shivered and chaffed his goosepimpled flesh. After taking a moment to mull over all that he'd learned, he asked another follow-up question. "Are there any other exceptions to the rule?"

"Once again, your enemy makes a fascinating case study. Think again of the diary. When you destroyed the vessel, the soul fragment was released, but Voldemort himself did not actually die. This is the purpose of a horcrux, to tether the recipient to the earth. If the fragment in question were called back to the realm of the living, it may fuse with another intact vessel. For example, the locket, or even Voldemort himself."

 

Harry jolted upright, causing the child tucked into the crook of his arm to fuss in alarm. He ignored the choked gurgling in his shock and excitement at this new discovery. "Let me get this st--"

Darkness swooped up and enveloped him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Déjà vu.

Harry was back in the chair, minus the blood and guts spilling down his front. Voldemort leaned once again against the desk, emotionless mask in place. The sky was a dusky purple beyond the windowpane.

"Fassscinating," the Dark Lord hissed, expression unchanged.

"You will not do that again," Harry said, voice cold as ice. Forget scared, he was starting to get pissed off. Sure, he wouldn't stay dead, but he could  _die_ , and frankly dying hurt like hell.

 

Voldemort ignored his glowering and straightened up once more. "Perhaps something a little more crude?" He advanced on Harry, twisting his wand in a complicated pattern. A very long and very sharp looking dagger materialized in his other hand. His scaly bald head nodded as if in resolution. "The muggle way, then."

 

Harry's eyes widened in terror.

"No!"

He clenched his fist, thinking of his wand.

"NO!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Arggh!"

Harry clutched his throat, still panting.

"Forty five seconds. A record, bravo," Death jibed, bony digits clacking together in a sardonic clap.

He curled back into the fetal position.

 

 

 


	3. This is 10% Luck, 20% Skill, 15% Concentrated Power of Will, 5% Pleasure, 50% Pain

_He doesn't need his name up in lights._

_He feels so unlike anybody else, alone_

_In spite of the fact that some people still think that they know him._

_But fuck 'em,_

_You won't believe the kind of shit that comes outta this kid's throat._

_A 100% reason to remember the name._

 "Remember The Name" Mike Shinoda & Fort Minor

 

 

 

 

Harry lay on his bench stroking the back of the tortured child lying on top of him. It fussed, but not like a normal infant would; there was no crying. A pitiable sound, half moan and half hacking cough, emitted from its bloody mouth and its muscles jerked spasmodically, making wet _thwumps_ against the raven wizard's chest.

"What is this thing anyway?" he asked.

 

Death was leaning boredly against the back of the bench. Its cowl twisted over its bony shoulder to glance down at the pair.

"A piece of Voldemort. It's been with you almost your entire life."

 

Harry froze, eyes bulging, and slowly lifted his hand off of the thing's back.

"A...a horcux?" he wheezed.

"Mmm," Death confirmed. "It cleaved to you when he tried to kill you as a baby."

His whole body stiff as a board, Harry felt a sudden wave of nausea. Staring down with fresh eyes at where the fragment of Tom Riddle's soul rested against him, he struggled to find some sequence to his thoughts and feelings.

 

No wonder it was such an ugly, half-formed thing. Its squashed face was more Mandrake than human, and it didn't appear to have actual skin. Now that he thought about it, it looked more like the version of Voldemort that Wormtail dumped into the cauldron than a baby at all.

He cautiously returned his hand to its little back. The horcrux seemed to relax and breathe a little easier when Harry cared for it.

"So this thing has been inside of me for sixteen years now..." Harry stated aloud, not really speaking to anyone. He glanced over at Death. "What would happen if I left it here?"

 

"It would be mine. Unless you ever call for it, at least. I imagine your scar would fade," the wraith pondered aloud.

Harry traced the lightening-shaped scar on his forehead. "I'm a human horcrux," he said wonderingly. He probably should have felt disgusted, but he was more passively fascinated than anything. It was hard to feel anything very strongly in this place.

"The first," Death helpfully added.

" _Should_ I leave it here? I guess that would mean I wouldn't have a connection with Voldemort anymore," he speculated.

"What you _should_ do is subjective, Harry Potter, and Death is unbiased," his companion stated matter-of-factly. It was doing that confusing third-person thing again. "What you _could_ do...ah, there are many paths. But yes, should you allow the horcrux to pass on, you will no longer have a connection to Tom Riddle's soul."

"Could I call it back to me? I mean, if I'm the vessel and I'm intact, I could take it or leave it anytime, right?" Harry asked curiously.

"No," Death corrected. "The only reason it has lived symbiotically thus far is because it is such a small fragment. Your soul and magic are influenced but unbothered by it. If you were to rid yourself of it, the place it resides in would close. There would be no where in your vessel for it to return to. Consider your cup over-full; this was a one-time occurrence, an anomaly, and will not happen again."

 

"Hmm," Harry hummed, observing his parasitic little soul shard consideringly.

"I guess I'll keep it until I decide what to do with it then," he said resolutely, having decided on a course of action. "I should give it a name; I can't just keep thinking of it as 'alien baby'."

Thinking for a moment, Harry suddenly broke out in a Cheshire grin. "I know, I'll call you Little Tommy." He cackled to himself and snuggled around it.

 

Death looked up at the ceiling and shook its hooded head. It leaned forward and said, "It's ti-- Wait, nevermind."

"What do you mean, nevermind?" Harry asked, brows furrowed. "I must be healed by now."

"You nearly were. Now he's dismembering your corpse."

 

Harry blanched. "Ugh, didn't need to know that. Your daddy is a sicko, Little Tommy," he cooed to his mutant sidekick.

 

They sat in silence for a while, pondering to themselves. It was impossible to mark the passing of time in this place, if indeed it did pass at all. There were no markers, such as the sky changing or trains moving, to ground oneself with.

Harry eventually glanced up at his hooded companion, and commented, "I don't suppose I'm holding you up from anything you need to be doing at the moment? We've been here quite a while today, and while I'm grateful for the company, surely being Death is a busy job."

Death took a moment to formulate its typically cryptic answer. "Death is everywhere at all times. Just because I am here with you now does not mean that I am not elsewhere."

"Ah," Harry nodded, as though that made great sense. They went back to silence as the thick white mist swirled around their centralized bench.

 

"Sooo..." He huffed out an exaggerated breath. "Assuming he keeps trying to find a way to kill me for real, I'm going to need an escape plan."

"My Hallows are a part of you. I imagine you have all you need," the wraith replied unhelpfully.

"Okaaay, well can we have a conversation about all of the paths I _could_ take, then?"

Death turned and rest its bony elbows on the back of the bench, and the scheming began.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a lungful of water. Spluttering, the raven tried to spit it back out, but more liquid rushed in to take its place. He jerked forward, trying to sit up, but his hands were still tied behind his back. Kicking his legs, he heard a _thunk_ as his foot connected with something solid.

A lid.

Comprehension dawned alongside dread and horror.

He was trapped in some sort of flooded coffin. The young wizard tried to scream, but had no air with which to do it. For as cool as the water was, it felt as though his chest were on _fire_.

 

Vision darkening and taut muscles beginning to go lax, Harry's body settled so that he was lying on the bottom of his tomb, looking up. The last thing he saw was a pale blurry face with eyes like glowing embers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Ugh," the young wizard groaned, allowing his head to _thump_ back against the wood.

"Forty two seconds. My, my, you _are_ good at breaking records."

"What I would give to not be..." he muttered under his breath.

 

Scrunching his eyes shut and running a hand down his face, Harry heaved himself to his feet. Little Tommy made a series of gurgling screeches until he was tucked safely into the crook of Harry's arm.

"Well, we didn't factor drowning into our plans," he groused.

Death hovered a few feet away, back turned to the man and staring into nothingness. "Did we not factor in using your _wand_?" Death parried mockingly.

"Look," Harry said, brows drawn into a scowl. He was getting tired of this entire ridiculous situation. "If I could hold my breath, I might have enough time to do something. But every time I come back the first thing I do is start _breathing_ again. Kinda necessary for us warm-blooded folk, unless you forgot," he snapped.

 

The wraith's shoulders jumped as it chuckled. It was an odd sound, a bit like two pieces of hollow wood knocking together.

"I suppose you'd better work fast then," it hissed, amused at the boy's flare of temper. "Drowning's an easy one. Time's up!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Green eyes open, lungs full of water. It was a horrid, discombobulating, panic-inducing sensation.

 Bubbles spewed out of Harry's mouth as he twisted and writhed for a moment before his thoughts began to return to him.

 

Vision already turning black around the edges, he thought of his wand and felt it immediately in his grip. Unable to aim it or speak, Harry thought ' _Evanesco_ ' with all he was worth, but nothing happened.

Eyelids fluttering shut, the raven's mind started to drift away again. Why was it so hard to think of a spell, _any_ spell?

 

Blue lips formed around the word ' _Finite_ ,' but then he was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Fifty one, how disappointing. You'll have to drown faster if you want a new record."

Harry didn't bother to open his eyes. He mentally ran through every spell he knew, trying to find one that might be even remotely helpful to him. He wished he had some gillyweed, or knew the Bubblehead Charm, which he vowed to learn at the earliest date.

"Steady..." Death drawled, and he fell again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eyes open. Water in lungs. Fruitless struggle.

The circumstances were horribly familiar enough now that conscious thought returned to him faster this time.

 

Harry gripped his wand and shouted unintelligibly, "BOMBARDA!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Death cackled, wringing its bony hands in glee.

"Eight seconds!"

The hooded figured leaned forward, slapping its knee.

"Blew yourself up," it crowed at the apparent hilarity.

 

Harry's lip curled in a Snape-worthy sneer of disdain.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Water. Drowning. Imminent death. Same old miserable rag.

Ignoring the burning in his lungs, the raven had his wand within seconds. ' _There!_ ' he thought triumphantly. He could see a spider web of cracks in the left wall of his watery prison. Using every last ounce of power and focus he could muster, he gurgled a mostly unintelligible, "EXPULSO!"

 

There was a deep resonating _boom_ that sloshed him about before he was sucked roughly through the fissure and deposited onto the floor of the study.

Harry coughed and retched, face down on the rug, as water rushed around him from the cracked glass box. He didn't have time to recover; his enemy was close.

 

"Relashio," he croaked, and rolled away as soon as his arms were free.

Voldemort's blindingly white bald head came into view as the young wizard flipped over, and he scrambled back and away from man and snake.

"Stupefy!" Harry jabbed the Elder Wand in the Dark Lord's direction.

 

The  stunner cracked across the room like a bolt of demonic crimson lightning. Rather than deflecting, the older wizard was forced to duck away at the last second. Eyes filled with hate locked onto the Boy Who Lived as the teen scampered behind the opposite side of the desk.

"Confringo," he heard the Dark Lord snarl, and the desk exploded into a million fragments of wooden slivers. They pelted Harry's back and side where he ducked to cover his head.

 

Crying out in pain and no small amount of fear, the Chosen One leapt up and flung his wand at his enemy, the syllables already forming on his lips. Through smoke and dust their gaze connected, Harry half kneeling and bloody, Voldemort towering and wrathful.

 

Time slowed and each adrenaline-laden heartbeat felt like an eternity.

 

 

 

"Ava-"

 _Ba-dump_.

 

 

"-da"

_Ba-dump._

 

"Kadev-"

_Ba-dump._

 

"-ra!"

 

 

 

Eerie green light reflected in both emerald and crimson as the twin jets crossed, untouched.

Two bodies slammed into opposite walls with a dual sickening _crunch_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Bravo," Death cheered, though with markedly less enthusiasm than was probably polite. "You defeated the darkest wizard in history in only forty seconds. Well done."

Harry was pretty sure that was sarcasm. He blew out a relieved breath and let a small smile unfurl as his lips pressed to the top of Little Tommy's slimy bald head.

 

"This will be quick. You know what you will do?" Death questioned.

"Not really," and with a cheeky grin the floor swallowed him up.

 

 

 


	4. Till the Roof Comes Off, Till the Lights Go Out, Till My Legs Give Out, Can't Shut My Mouth

_That's why you see me walking around like nothing's bothering me,_

_Even though half you people got a fucking problem with me._

_You hate it but you know respect you've got to give me._

_I'ma rip this shit till my bones collapse._

_I will not fall, I will stand tall._

_Feels like no one can beat me._

 "Till I Collapse" Eminem

 

 

 

 

Harry sat up and wiped the grit out of his eyes. The fire still crackled contentedly in the hearth, but the rest of the room was in disarray. The rug and flagstone were scorched black in more places than not and the desk was reduced to a spray of splinters littered throughout the room. Both chairs were lying on their sides and some of the books had fallen off the shelves. Stars twinkled merrily through the cracked glass of the window.

Warily eyeing the remnants of the transparent coffin and the ensuing puddle that covered the majority of the floor, Harry picked himself up from the ground. His bare feet slapped in the few centimeters of water that remained until he reached the fireplace and stepped up onto the deliciously toasty stone ledge, where he began to warm his frozen backside. His trousers were torn and sodden, and the rest of his clothes had somehow gone missing entirely. Running a hand though wet raven locks, Harry looked about for his glasses--probably still in the belly of the beast, along with his jumper--before he realized that he could see perfectly and had no need for them after all. Now was not the time to question such things, however.

 

A slight movement to his left brought him back to the present, crouched and ready for an attack. His gaze locked with malevolently glittering slits. Nagini wrapped herself more snuggly around Voldemort's fallen body and bared her fangs at Harry defensively. Her scales were dusty and pocked with bloody splinters.

 _"Wretched child,"_ she cried in Parseltongue. _"What have you done to us?"_

"Right," Harry muttered with a grimace, straightening up. His chest flared briefly gold and the Death Stick headed his call. With one broad wave the water was gone. Bare toes met dry, cold stone as he stepped down from the hearth. Another wave and all of the litter from the prior battle was vanished. Books returned to  their shelves and chairs righted before moving against the wall. Harry grinned down at his new wand. A keeper, for sure.

 

As he strode toward the giant viper, she reared up and gnashed her many sharp teeth. _"I'll kill you, you slimy little rat!"_ she hissed, tensing muscles larger than his thigh, preparing to strike.

 _"Sorry, girl,"_ the wizard replied in a regretful hiss before raising his wand.

"Avada Kedavra."

 

Long, thick coils jerked and slackened briefly before regaining their crushing grip on the corpse. The enormous triangular head snapped forward, faster than the eye could see, and Harry jumped back warily to stay out of the enraged serpent's range.

 _"You dare, foolish boy?"_ Nagini shrieked indignantly in snake language. Her neck wound back into a tight s-shape, tenser than a trip-wire.

 

"Worth a shot," he sighed, and brought his wand up once more. Between his new super powers, Death's snarky yet admittedly helpful advice, and camping on the run, Harry was decently well prepared to build the wards needed for his purpose.

Golden light sprung up in concentric rings around the fallen wizard and his familiar, growing and twining until they were entrapped in a domed cage. The knotted length of elder swirled counterclockwise while Harry muttered under his breath, reinforcing his creation. Next, he paced around the room muttering for another few moments, making sure no one but he could enter through any door or window, via floo or apparition.

There was a bang and a sizzling sound when the snake tried to strike at the bars confining her, only to be met with an unpleasant jolt. Those eerie red eyes, so like her master's, glared mutinously at him as she worked singed jaws filled with dozens of needle-like teeth. A shiver ran up the raven's spine and he turned away from the enclosure, satisfied with his work.

Looking around one last time, Harry belatedly summoned Voldemort's wand off of the floor and tucked it into his back pocket before deciding on his next course of action.

 

"Kreacher!"

 

_Crack!_

 

The decrepit old elf looked around for a moment, eyes widening on the fallen Dark Lord before finally coming to rest on his master. Enormous grey orbs surveyed the young man from head to toe and back again, and then began to shine suspiciously.

"Master has called Kreacher to witness such a glorious event, Kreacher is so happy," the little figure croaked, and indeed Harry had never seen the house elf look so enraptured before. Tears swam in the tennis ball sized eyes that looked up at him like a god. Harry shifted uncomfortably and scratched at his jaw. " Master Regulus's work is finally done!"

"Er, kind of," Harry said, glancing once more at the body on the floor from the corner of his eye. "We're not done yet though. Kreacher, can you find out where Ron and Hermione went?" he asked hopefully, perhaps even a little desperately.

Hairy grey ears flapped forward and back as the house elf nodded enthusiastically in spasmodic little jerks. Long gnarled fingers pressed together in preparation as Kreacher cackled conspiratorially, "Oh yes, Kreacher can, Kreacher will bring them to his Master and then Kreacher will cook a feast to for all to celebrate! Nasty tyrant man--"

"Wait!" Harry yelped and dropped to his knees, scrambling to grab the elf's hand. "You can't bring them here," he blurted quickly. The wrinkly little creature ceased his rambling and stared up at Harry through narrowed eyes. The wizard sighed, dropping Kreacher's hand, and flopped onto his backside.

"You see, he's not _all_ the way dead yet," Harry began. Bulbous slitted orbs darted over to caged corpse with a speculative gleam that made the teen cringe and hasten to continue. "Only a part of him is dead, but the rest of him is still in pieces. I need to find and destroy the rest of the pieces, understand?"

"Like the Master Regulus's locket, Master?" Kreacher asked, pulling out the fake that rested underneath his tunic.

"Yes," Harry breathed, relieved. "Just like the locket."

"Kreacher will help, mmm, Kreacher will help Master find every filthy little piece and kill them all dead, oh yes Kreacher will--"  Harry caught the elf's emaciated arm as he began to edge toward the glittering dome, wizened features a rictus of malicious glee.

"No, no!" When the savage side eye turned upon Harry, the raven wizard hastily snatched his hand back and amended, "I mean yes, I definitely need your help. I've already got a plan and your first task. Alright?"

Kreacher nodded solemnly. Harry thought he finally had the little elf's full attention, but it hard to tell. It was entirely possible that he was staring just past him at the corpse still.

"I need you to go to where Ron and Hermione are. Let them know I'm fine, but that it's too dangerous for us to meet up just now. Tell them that I have another horcrux, and I need the sword to destroy it. Most importantly, Kreacher, I need you to bring me the Sword of Gryffindor."

"Danger, horcrux, sword... Kreacher will do it," and with a snap and a _crack_ the elf was gone.

"Ugh," Harry groaned, banging his head on his knee. He had a bad feeling about this. He vaguely wondered if all house elves were equally troublesome.

 

 

Mere seconds passed before another sharp _crack_ cause the wizard to nearly jump out of his skin. Kreacher reappeared in the same spot he had vacated moments before, this time panting and proudly holding out the gleaming sword with shaking arms.

"Err," Harry gaped, taken aback. Tentatively reaching out to take the sword, he asked, "That was... incredibly fast. Are you sure you relayed the message right?"

Kreacher puffed out his chest indignantly and snootily drawled, "Kreacher is the most loyal elf for the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Kreacher is the best elf there is, and can be doing all sorts of tasks very quickly. Oh yes, Kreacher would be back faster to kill the nasty pieces of that bad man but vile little goblinses tried to keep the sword away from Kreacher." He held up one spindly-fingered hand with little crescents of blood drying under the ragged talons. "No slimy gold-hoarding crooks will get the best of Kreacher though, no they won't..."

Harry grimaced. "Well, excellent job then, I guess." When those big beady eyes began to drift back to the warded cage, he cast about for some excuse to see the elf out. "Your next mission is to, uhh, scout out this building." Actually, after taking a moment to think on it, the young wizard wanted to kick himself for not thinking of it sooner--were they even alone here, wherever _here_ was? "Be sneaky, and report back to me if you find anyone or anything suspicious."

Kreacher waffled a moment before nodding reluctantly and skulking backward into the shadows. He could have been mistaken, but Harry thought he heard a whisper of "Stab it extra hard for us..." before there was a final _crack_ and he was alone with his prisoners once more.

 

With an incredulous shake of the head, Harry hauled himself off of the ground and approached the golden magical dome once more. Nagini hissed menacingly but was smart enough not to strike again. Hefting the sword thoughtfully in right hand, the raven wizard summoned the Death Stick into his left.

"How to do this without dying again..." he muttered to under his breath consideringly.

 

Moments passed in weighted silence. The Chosen One's white knuckles creaked around the hilt of the bejeweled blade and a bead of sweat cut a path between his shoulder blades.

The stillness was abruptly broken with the slash of a wand, and "Finite Incantatem" echoed too loudly in the stone room. The golden aura winked out of existence between one second and the next. The Elder Wand then pivoted sharply, jabbing toward the snake. "Avada Kedavra," Harry cried before dropping the wand. It vanished before it hit the floor.

The green burst of light struck Nagini right in the face, and just as her neck snapped back from the impact, the raven wizard sent nearly a meter of gleaming razor-sharp metal arcing toward her.

 

Long, thick coils instantly went slack as the enormous severed head of the serpent hit the stone floor with a dull _thud_. Harry stood over the two corpses, wizard and familiar, bloody blade held in trembling fingers, and felt a peculiar sense of guilt. Shaking his head to dispel the sudden melancholy, Harry pulled the heavy leather desk chair up next to his fallen enemy and settled in. With another wave of his wand the dead snake gone.

The Dark Lord lay crumbled on the flagstones, partially slumped against the wall. Dull, empty eyes stared ahead at nothing. Pale, hairless skin with smooth serpentine features looked waxy and bloated in death, like a disturbing misshapen doll without a wig. Harry shivered, wondering if his body looked just as creepy while he was waiting in limbo.

"Right," he said with conviction, and the ring across his chest flared. Opening his left fist, the raven considered the small black stone for a moment. Emerald eyes flickered to the corpse before him and back again, before he finally sucked in a deep breath and sat up straight.

"Incarcerous," he intoned, just in case, before flipping the stone in his palm three times.

 

It took a few moments for Death to heed his call. Harry stared unblinkingly down at his lifeless foe, wand pointed and at the ready.

Suddenly, the bound form on the floor stiffened and choked in a harsh breath. Pupils constricted into crescent slits and narrowed up at the lounging young man. Raw ire now blazed in those previously glazed orbs, and Voldemort was resurrected once again.

"Welcome back, Tom," Harry chirped, feigning ease.

 

Voldemort remained silent but Harry could see his muscles clenching here and there, testing the bonds. He felt the Dark Lord's wand twitch in his back pocket, so he grinned and planted his arse more firmly to ensure it remained pinned between himself and the chair. After a few seconds the wizard on the floor managed to, more or less gracefully, all things considered, drag himself into a seated position.

The two adversaries stared at one another for a long moment. Harry was pretty sure the other wizard was attempting to Legilimize him again, but it was a futile effort. Voldemort's face might have been impassive, but his narrowed eyes where smoldering with rage. If looks could kill...

"Here's what's going to happen, Tom--" the raven began.

"I will kill you, Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed venomously.

Harry ignored the interruption. "I'm the Master of Death, you see. Just think of it as a pretty bit of soul magic. Dead useful too," he said with a small waggle of his eyebrows. Now that he was no longer at imminent risk of dying a gruesome and painful death, he was beginning to relax and enjoy this newfound position over his nemesis.

"How is this possible?" the Dark Lord snarled, pointed teeth bared.

"Soul magic is such a fascinating subject," he barreled on blithely. Cocking his head and looking the other man dead in the eye, he asked, "Don't you agree, Tom?" At that, Voldemort suddenly went very still. "Shall we give it a go then?"

 

Widening red eyes followed the path of the Resurrection Stone as it cut through the air. Harry tossed it high and caught it showily, relying on his honed Seeker skills, knowing smugly that Voldemort had no idea what was actually happening. He hoped his own eyes were twinkling like Dumbledore reincarnated.

The stone smacked into his palm for the third time and he waited with a growing sense of anticipation. The Dark Lord's gazed was fixated on his closed fist, and a forked tongue darted out to wet nonexistent lips.

"Where did you--"

 

Crimson eyes bulged in their shrunken sockets, and Voldemort's body arched like a bow. Mouth open in a silent scream, the tendons on his neck stood out like ropes and his skeletal chest expanded further and further until the man's bound form looked ready to burst. Harry leaned forward, brows drawn in concern. His enemy did not draw another breath as his taught body twitched minutely in its confines.

Just as Harry thought something may have gone wrong, the inflated statue-like figure heaved forward with a gusty rattling exhale. A clammy sweat covered the Dark Lord's sickly waxy skin. The man slumped to the side once more as he gasped for breath.

 

After a moment scarlet eyes blinked dazedly open and Harry felt a thrill of triumph rush through him. The man's pupils were blown wide and round; the cat-like slits were no more. The Dark Lord shifted lethargically, and when his tongue peaked out once again to wet his chapped bleeding mouth, it was no longer forked.

Harry couldn't help but grin down at his adversary. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Voldemort gave a little shake of his head, as though to clear away a fog. "What have you done?" he slurred, and finally gave up on trying to sit up. How it must gall for the darkest wizard in history to lay bound and helpless at the feet of his enemy.

"Just returning something you've lost," Harry smirked down at him. "This next piece is slightly bigger, so you might want to prepare yourself."

The haze cleared from those unsettling red irises, which snapped to his own. There was an emotion in them that he couldn't comprehend. Shock, understanding, dawning horror? It was impossible to know for sure.

 

The Resurrection Stone flipped through the air again. Once, twice--

"Release me, stupid boy!" The older wizard struggled against the thick black ropes that bound this legs together and his arms to his torso.

Three times the black pebble arced mid-flight.

Harry could see the panic in his bulging eyes now. "Obey me!" Voldemort snarled. "You have no id--"

Again the body on the floor seized, and the raven watched in fascination this time. Head thrown back and grinding against the stone floor, Harry could see the vein on the other wizard's forehead grow and pulse. A bubble of spittle popped up along the seam of his slit-like mouth.

 

It took longer this time for the transition to end. By Harry's estimation, Voldemort had been subsisting the last few years with less than one percent of his soul; more parasite than man. The first piece he returned after sending the resurrected soul back to its current vessel was that of the recently deceased Nagini. She too held only a fraction of a percent, and Death had suggested that he work backwards.

Harry had decided to skip over his own horcrux for now, not yet ready to make a decision regarding Little Tommy. So next up of the pieces he had already harvested was the locket. With this addition, he will have restored approximately five percent of Voldemort's original soul.

 

When the muscle spasms and tremors ended several minutes later, the Dark Lord looked even more corpse-like than when he had been dead. His skin was almost translucent, blue veins sprawling across his now more defined facial structures. It wasn't quite a nose, but it certainly wasn't the flat viper-like pitted flares from before.

The man panted for breath, weak and disoriented. When his eyes cracked open to squint up at Harry, they were a darker shade, almost maroon, surrounded by bloody broken vessels.

"One more for tonight, I think," Harry whispered, eyes cast to the starry night. It was difficult for him to remain aloof in the face of suffering. Yes, this was the monster than murdered his parents, but the boy had no interest in torturing him. Feeling a sudden surge of pity and compassion, Harry softly rotated the stone in his fist and thought finally of the ring it had once been; this particular Deathly Hallow had once held a full quarter of Lord Voldemort's soul.

 

It took a moment for the soul magic to kick in, and when it did the man on the floor began to scream as though under the Cruciatus curse.

Within the twisting, writhing ball of waxy white skin and grungy black robes, Harry could see the other wizard begin to transform before his very eyes. The prone form on the ground began to ripple and expand, bony skeletal limbs fleshing out to become human-like again. Thick jet-black hair sprouted across the man's skull, lengthening by the second. Voldemort threw his head back against the flagstones with a bellow, and Harry could see the bones shifting in the man's face. Like a werewolf transformation, they cracked and shifted, forming a solid nose, heavy brows, high cheekbones, and a strong chin. Lips grew where there had been none. Little black spikes elongated into neat eyebrows and long, curved lashes.

It was a long time before the figure before him stopped twitching and jerking, finally falling still. The man's eyes were open but unfocused, irises a shade bloodier than black. The body was eerily still, small trickles of crimson blood flowing from his nose, mouth, and ears.

Worried and more than a little anxious, Harry slid forward out of the chair and onto his knees. Nervously wetting dry lips, he extended a shaking hand. Pale trembling fingers pressed into the clammy column of a muscular throat, and Harry exhaled a huff of relief after snatching his hand back. Tom Riddle's pulse was weak, but steady. The man was alive, and more mortal than he'd been in decades.

 

 

 

 


	5. Whip, Whip, Run Me Like a Racehorse (I Was Born for This)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The turnout on this story has amazed me thus far, and for that I am so grateful.
> 
> I promise the sexy bits are coming up soon, so hang in there peeps. I know that's why many of you are here, and believe me, I know how you feel.
> 
> Keep up the amazing feedback!

_Falling too fast to prepare for this,_

_Tripping in the world could be dangerous._

_Everybody waiting for the fall of man,_

_Everybody praying for the end of times,_

_Everybody hoping they could be the one._

_Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins,_

_I do whatever it takes._

"Whatever It Takes" Imagine Dragons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry needn't have worried about intruders. After making sure his prisoner was thoroughly secure, the young wizard began exploring his unknown surroundings via Lumos. Peaking into every room and squinting out of several windows, Harry realized that he must be in Riddle Manor. There was a thick layer of dust over most of the old house, and more cobwebs than he could shake a broom at. Locating the master bedroom suite, Harry returned to find the unconscious man exactly where he'd left him in the study.

A Mobilicorpus had the body of his enemy floating along behind him in the dark, musty hallway, and Harry wondered for what was not the first time if he'd entirely lost his mind.

Shaking his head and refocusing, Harry pushed open the bedroom door and floated his burden over to the bed, depositing it none too gently onto the mattress. A puff of dust created a small grey cloud around the unrecognizable wizard sprawled awkwardly on top of the duvet, but Harry simply shrugged and began warding the room. This wasn't a five star hotel, and the man _was_ Voldemort, after all.

Satisfied with his work for now, Harry cast a monitoring charm on the doors and windows before exiting and thoroughly locking the door behind him.

 

With a gusty exhale, Harry slumped against the wall in the hallway. What a day.

Exhausted, hungry, and filthy, the raven considered his options. He could ask Kreacher to take him to wherever Ron and Hermione were hiding, but to be entirely honest with himself, he was relishing his time apart from the other two thirds of the trio after months stuck in close quarters while on the run. Not willing to relinquish is autonomy so soon, nor willing to explain the state of affairs and his plan quite yet, Harry dismissed that idea. He loved his friends dearly, but they simply wouldn't understand. This was something he needed to do this on his own.

He cast through ideas for other possible refuges, but could think of nowhere safe for himself or others. Voldemort may currently be his unconscious, partially-mortal prisoner, but no one else knew that. He was still in danger from other Death Eaters, immortality be damned.

Making up his mind, Harry called out, "Kreacher."

 

With a sharp _crack_ the elf was back, looking up at his master hopefully. "Master needs Kreacher's help again? Kreacher is good at stabbing things."

Harry gave a wry smile. "I wouldn't survive without you, Kreacher." The little old elf puffed out his chest stood taller than Harry had ever seen him. "How do you feel about taking a break from Hogwarts?

Bulbous eyes surveyed the dark, dingy hallway critically before the house elf turned back to Harry and pressed his lips together severely. "Master _definitely_ needs Kreacher's help," he said firmly.

Despite everything that had happened, Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Like I said, don't know how I even function without you. Will you see what you can do with the kitchen while I sort out a sleeping space?"

With a scarily determined twinkle in his eye and a solemn bow, Kreacher _cracked_ out of existence once more.

 

Harry remained slumped against the wall for another moment before pushing himself up. "Right."

He didn't have to wander far before finding another bedroom with an en suite bathroom. The raven wondered at the wisdom of staying in a neighboring room to his mortal enemy, but the old adage about keeping your enemies closest made him shrug off the matter. Not to mention he'd be close by for any of the inevitably ensuing trouble.

The Elder Wand made short work of more than fifty years of accumulated filth. Before long a healthy fire crackled merrily in the grate and the large porcelain tub was full of water. A liberal heating charm caused rivulets of steam to rise from the surface, a sight that made grateful tears rise to Harry's eyes. How long had it been since he'd slept on anything but a thin, lumpy bedroll? How long since he'd had more than a hasty scrub down with a bucket of tepid water?

Placing the long length of yew and his mokeskin pouch on the bathroom counter, Harry vanished his trousers and practically dove into the hot water. He couldn't help the indecent moan that escaped his lips once he was submerged to his ears. Sprawled bonelessly, his eyes fluttered blissfully shut and his mind drifted away.

 

_Crack!_

 

 

It took a few moments of spluttering and rubbing his face to clear the water from his sinuses before Harry could sit up and address his elf.

"Merlin, Kreacher, give a man a heart attack why don't you," he groused.

Looking decidedly unapologetic, Kreacher drawled, "Dinner is ready. Will Master be taking it downstairs or in his room?"

Harry's stomach abruptly howled with a ferocity he'd never before experienced at the mention of food. Swallowing down the sudden flood of saliva in his mouth, he inquired as to the origin of the meal. Considering the state of the manor, he had no doubts that the kitchen had been just as dilapidated and barren.

"Kreacher is borrowing from Hogwarts," the wizened old elf shrugged, an unrepentant expression on his face. Harry suspected the creature's definition of 'borrowing' was a tad lax.

"Excellent. I'll be down in a few," he assured. Kreacher bowed low to the ground and was gone.

 

As much as he wanted to relax and enjoy the first hot bath he'd had in ages, the beast that had woken in his stomach ensured that the raven washed himself quickly. Dunking his head under the water and scrubbing through his thick locks with rough fingers, Harry decided it was good enough and stepped out of the tub. A flick of his wand had the dirty brown water Evanescoed, and a heating charm chased the chill away from his goosepimpled flesh. He aimed a drying charm lazily at his head and then again at his torso.

Stepping up to the granite countertop, the young wizard startled and pointed his Lumos-lit wand at the man reflected in the enormous mirror.

 

 _This_ was not the result of months starvation on the run.

 _This_ was...someone else entirely. He set the Death Stick next to the sink and leaned toward his reflection.

Harry trailed his fingers over his brow and jaw, turning his head from side to side. The image in the muggle mirror copied his movements exactly.

Most notable was his complexion. Previously Quidditch-tanned flesh now shone an ethereal snowy white. Creamy and unblemished, his skin looked like it came from a magazine advertisement. In contrast his messy black locks were darker than ever. Even in the half light his full head of hair shone glossy and blue. Even his eyelashes looked longer and sootier, shadowing his eerily bright eyes. The unnatural Avada-green, nearly luminescent, sent chills down his spine. He swallowed loudly and tore his gaze away from his own visage.

How had he not noticed before now? Granted, he'd been a little bit busy with dying a half dozen times and whatnot, but shouldn't he have noticed that the body he'd been walking around in hadn't been his own? Not that he'd seen himself in a mirror in ages, but the change was too dramatic.

Where before he could have counted his ribs, his torso was now thick and firm. He was a still of a slim build, but that was the only thing his reflection had in common with its previous appearance. Taller than before, his shoulders were almost as broad as Ron's now. His pectoral and deltoid muscles were more defined than he had even seen them, tapering down to a trim waist with firm abdominal muscles. Pelvic muscles formed a neat triangle starting high on his hips, framing his not insignificant package along with toned thighs. Veins corded lightly bulging arms which were held out in front of him for inspection.

"Sweet Merlin," his whispered, agog at the changes his body had undergone. Gone was the stunted scrawny teenager, replaced by a healthy and athletic young man.

A pitiful gurgle emanating from his abdomen caused Harry to finally emerge from the bathroom, mind still boggled. He wondered if becoming the Master of Death had changed him physically somehow. The Dark Lord had transformed right before his very eyes due to soul magic; what was to say that the same hadn't happen to himself?

 

_'That assumption would be correct.'_

Harry nearly jolted out of his skin at the rasping whisper, clear as day in his ears. Wand aloft, he whirled about, inspecting every shadowy corner of the room. The back of his neck prickled, and he called out, "Who's there?"

A low rattling chuckle made him groan and drop his wand arm, heart still attempting to beat out of his chest. "Where are you, Death?"

_'Infesting your brain, Harry Potter. Would you be more comfortable with a physical manifestation?'_

He snorted sardonically. "Voices in my head. Par for the course, I guess."

 _'Indeed,'_ Death said, an amused lilt to its voice. Harry realized that he wasn't actually hearing it with his ears, but that it was indeed echoing in his mind.

 _'Yep, definitely going mad,'_ he thought to himself.

 _'I'm not arguing that point. I merely felt inclined to confirm the results of your introspection, narcissistic though it was,'_ Death mocked. _'Your body will always regenerate to peak physical condition. This vessel is your genetic prime. Underwhelming yes, but certainly an improvement.'_

 _'Asshole,'_ Harry mentally shot back. It felt better to converse in his head rather than aloud to a voice no one but him could hear. _'Wait, is this what I would have looked like if I hadn't been locked in a cupboard and starved half my life?'_ An affirmative hum confirmed his theory. _'Better late than never, I guess.'_

 

Harry set about searching for some clothes. Opening the wardrobe, he found a few moth-eaten coats.

"No good. Kreacher!"

_Crack!_

"The dinner Kreacher slaved over will be cold by the time Master drags his lazy rump downstairs."

"Well it'd be poor manners to dine naked, so you'll have to help me out," Harry replied to the crotchety old elf with a crooked grin.

With a snap of his long knobby fingers, a set of silky black bottoms and a plain white tee appeared crisply folded on the bed. "Kreacher knows Master hates to dress like a proper wizard," he said with a disapproving sniff.

"Kreacher knows right," Harry chuckled, pulling on the conjured pajamas. There weren't any under things to be found, but Harry didn't much care; he was clean, dry, warm, and soon to be fed. "Lead the way," he invited the elf once finished.

 

 

 

A short time later, Harry found himself settled at a corner table in the kitchen. Kreacher had cleaned up the cavernous formal dining room and lit enough torches to eat by, but the young wizard batted the idea down with distaste. The little old elf now scowled at his errant Master from his position at a work surface where he kneaded pastry dough for pudding.

"Oh gods," Harry moaned, licking his spoon clean. The house elf, having the rare occasion to be of great use to his master, had gone all out with Harry's favorites. Roasted beef with gravy, fried sausages, buttery mash, and braised carrots were shoveled into his gullet with a manic frenzy. Three servings of each, and he was only just beginning to slow down. The raven couldn't recall ever having been this hungry in this life, not even at the Dursleys' worst. He could have put Ron to shame just then.

"'ave I told 'oo lately 'ow much I adore 'oo, Kreacher?" he grunted around a delicious mouthful of greasy pork.

"If Master insists on talking with his mouth full, Kreacher will be having to seal it shut," the grouchy thing sniped, but Harry knew by his erect and quivering furry grey ears that he was pleased.

"Mmm," he agreed, lips closed but cheeks bulging.

 Eventually the boy sat back, rubbing the slight mound of his stomach. It still complained, but now because it was too full rather than too empty. Eyes lidded and head muzzy from his food-induced stupor, he allowed himself to relax and reflect back on the chain of events that brought him here.

 

 

Waking up in a frozen tent in the middle of nowhere this morning, he never would have guessed he'd be sitting in Lord Voldemort's muggle parent's kitchen enjoying a home cooked meal.

Was it right, what he was doing? He tried to think of what Ron and Hermione would say.

Ron would likely go on about how mad Harry's plan was, either that or he'd be too busy rubbing the Master of Death thing in Hermione's face to notice his friend's apparent insanity. Hermione though... He couldn't quite picture her response other than the inevitable wringing of hands and pulling out a stack of tomes to reference.

Thinking of the havoc that unfolded at Malfoy Manor this afternoon, he hoped that his friends were okay.

Surely his plan wasn't exactly _wrong_. Who said he actually had to kill the Dark Lord in order to defeat him? Wasn't turning him mortal enough? The wizarding world had asked so much of him, and given so little in return, that he should be able to go about it his own way, right? And it wasn't as though it were too late--Harry could always kill him later if he needed to.

A constriction in his chest caused Harry's breath to hitch at that last though. No, he definitely didn't want to kill anyone if it could be at all avoided.

 

 

The soft _clink_ of a dish settling onto the table drew the raven wizard from his musings. Before him sat the largest, most beautifully golden slice of treacle tart he'd ever laid eyes on. Gratitude and delirious happiness welled in his eyes, and Harry turned to voice his undying love and devotion to his glorious little elf.

Mouth opened to spew his heart-felt thanks, Harry froze when a shadow shifted in the doorway.

A familiar length of yew shone in the light from the kitchen. There was a flash of eerie green light, and then nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

"Look who finally showed up," Death drawled in a monotone. "I was beginning to think you preferred the living realm."

"Missed me, eh?" Harry smirked, wrapping his arms snugly around Little Tommy. "Well, that certainly was a surprise. I guess your daddy just woke up. He must be cranky when he's sleepy," he crooned in a low sing-song voice to the mutant baby.

Seconds later he was gone again.

 

* * *

 

 

"Blergh," Harry groaned, cheek smooshed against the wooden tabletop. He used his palms to push himself back into a seated position, shaking his head in a decided dog-like fashion.

A strange man sat in the seat across from him. He would almost be handsome if not for the obvious sickly, exhausted pallor. His hair was like midnight, soft inky tresses cascading over broad shoulders. He wore dingy black robes that were several sizes too small, seams pulling apart, with holes and burn marks scattered across the fabric. The man's skin had a grey tinge, and there were black shadows under his reddened eyes. There were four bloody scratches on his hollow right cheek.

Most importantly, the mysterious figure was wolfing down _Harry's_ treacle tart. "Hey!" he cried.

The man glanced up at him from beneath heavy lids, dark eyes flashing scarlet so briefly that Harry might have thought he imagined it if he hadn't known better.

There was another flash of florescent green before the man lowered his gaze back to the plate and lifted another heaping forkful to his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

"That son of a bitch!" Harry shouted, jumping up from his bench. "Sorry, sorry," he murmured to Little Tommy, who startled and began coughing wet and violently.

"Poor little guy," he remarked when his little buddy had quieted again.

"You _do_ realize that _poor_ thing is a piece of the man who just murdered you over dessert, do you not?"

Harry shot a glare at Death before pressing his lips to the infant's slimy red cranium. "Don't listen to Death, Little Tommy. It's just bitter because it's dead all the time and can't have any treacle tart either."

 

* * *

 

 

"Bastard!" Harry choked out as he pushed himself away from the table, stumbling as he worked to regain control over his legs. He pointed an accusatory finger at his enemy, the worn and decidedly human-looking man who was currently scraping fork tines over the plate in search of crumbs.

"Was that _really_ necessary? Hold a grudge, why don't--"

The flick of a wand and yet another flash of green cut the thought short.

 

* * *

 

 

"Oh, it's war now," Harry seethed, a demonic fire dancing in his unearthly emerald eyes.

"It appears he has regained enough stamina for round two, wouldn't you say?" Death ventured, a hint of eager malice in its raspy voice that sent a chill down the raven's spine.

"Yes, yes I would," he replied with a vicious grin of his own.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry lay on the cold tiled floor, not bothering to open his eyes. With a thought the weight of the small cool stone rested in his palm. Images of a cold wet chamber deep underground and ink flowing like blackened blood flickered behind his eyelids. With a subtle flick of the wrist, it turned thrice and disappeared.

Swaying forward, Harry rested his elbows on his knees and finally smirked up at Tom Riddle through his fringe.

The man surveyed him silently and emotionlessly. He had lounged back in the wooden chair, hands resting casually on his thighs and wand aimed directly at Harry's chest.

 

Seconds passed in deadlock, and then the chair crashed backwards with a sudden seizure of limbs. There was a sharp _crack_ as skull met wall before the furniture and its occupant hit the floor. Harry cringed at the sound and heaved himself onto his hands and knees to crawl forward.

The broken figure sprawled on the ground shook violently enough that his teeth, bared in a rictus of torment, chattered together. Face turning a shade of purple that would make Vernon envious and bloodshot eyes rolling back into his skull, the veins on the Dark Lord's brow and neck looked ready to burst. Gasps, grunts, and choking sounds punctuated the silence.

Harry ran a shaky hand through his messy hair and settled his back against the wall next to the prone form to wait it out. A few minutes in the tremors started to slow and Voldemort, if that is what he still was, hyperventilated in shallow rapid gasps.

 

A soft shuffling sound brought Harry's attention to Kreacher, who poked his head cautiously around the corner of the island. "Nasty half-blood menace is nearly done for," he muttered, sounding more like the wretched animal that once haunted Grimmauld Place than he had in months. He edged toward the two wizards on the floor, pursing his lips as though considering the merits of spitting on his master's foe.

"He's not gonna die," Harry sighed wearily. "I've got bigger plans for him."

"Oh yes, Master and Kreacher will just have to make him suffer then," the little thing snarled, jabbing Tom Riddle's limp leg with his toe. There was a evil glint in his protruding eyes, and he let out a high pitched cackle like nails on a chalk board.

"Berrrgh," Harry shuttered, a chill wracking his body and making his hair stand on end. "Don't be a creep, Kreacher." With that he stood and righted the fallen chair before slumping into it.

"Creeping is what Kreacher does best," the wizened creature whispered insidiously to himself. With one last longing look at the man still twitching on the floor, the little elf shuffled back over to the stove. A lovely slice of treacle tart, magically reheated and even larger than the last, appeared in front of Harry.

The raven squeaked and picked up the steaming slice with ginger fingers, cramming half of it into his mouth. His stomach roared in appreciation; it was as though his meal not minutes before had even happened.

"I r'ove 'oo, 'Reacher," he moaned, eyes rolled toward the heavens.

Kreacher huffed and snapped his long bony fingers. The untouched fork, which had been sitting innocuously on his plate, promptly leapt up and stabbed Harry on the hand. With a yelp and spray of crumbs from his lips, he fumbled the remainder of his pastry and managed to dump most of it back onto his plate.

"Kreacher will teach Master manners yet," the elf grumbled under his breath, banishing Harry's mess and the used dishes that the Dark Lord had stolen.

Finishing the rest of the tart in record time, even hindered as he was by the use of his fork, Harry inquired after seconds of everything. Far from being perturbed, the little elf seemed gleeful to be serving second dinner so soon.

 

Glancing down at the now still and once again unconscious man on the floor, Harry eyed the small cuts that seemed to be scabbing over on his cheek. "Kreacher, did you smack him?" he asked incredulously.

"Tried to claw his eyes out, Kreacher did," the elf barked proudly. "Raggedy pile of filth stumbles into _Kreacher's_ kitchen, kills _Kreature's_ Master, and puts his shitty little fingers all over _Kreacher's_ hard work!" Harry goggled in amazement while the manic little elf ranted and raved himself into a fury.

There was a moment of silence on Harry's part, interrupted by Kreacher's heavy breathing, before the wizard suddenly burst into uncontrollable, belly-deep laughter. He slumped over the table, clutching his ribs, and couldn't seem to stop. Even with tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks, it was impossible to pull himself together. It felt too good to laugh; he couldn't even remember the last time he'd done it. Even Kreacher cracked a reluctant crooked grin.

"Good on you, mate." Wiping his damp eyes and still chuckling quietly, Harry rose from the table. "Alright, we'd better get him back to bed and figure out how he got past all of my spells. Will you take him upstairs while I check the perimeter real quick?"

 

Kreacher stomped over to the unconscious man and seized him around the ankle before _cracking_ out of the room. Harry held up a hand in protest, but was too late to stop the little elf. ' _Meh, it'll probably be fine,'_ he thought with a shrug.

 

Choosing to exit via the back door in the kitchen, Harry breathed in deeply the sweet muggy spring air. Tilting his head back and grinning up at the twinkling starry sky, Harry tucked his thumbs into the waist band of his trousers and made his way down the long gravel drive. It felt so bloody good to have the upper hand for once.

Reaching the rusty old gate, the young wizard started a circuit around the perimeter of the property, muttering and twitching his wand as he went. It wouldn't do for Riddle Manor to disappear, and it mightn't be the best idea to potentially raise the alarm by barring entry entirely, so Harry settled for alerting and anti-apparition wards. For all he knew only Voldemort ever came here, but on the off chance that one of his Death Eaters did decide to pay him a visit, Harry would know the moment they set foot inside of the grounds.

 

An hour later, satisfied with his work and beginning to feel the fatigue really set in, Harry made his way back into the house and up to the second story. Entering the master bedroom, Harry froze in the doorway, eyes darting about the darkened room. It was entirely empty.

"Kreacher...?" he asked softly into the gloom. Though he knew it was coming, the immediate resulting  _crack_ caused a fresh wave of adrenaline to surge through his veins. "Where did he go? I thought you were supposed to be in charge of him for a little while?"

"Kreacher did as Master asks. Kreacher brought the dirty vagrant upstairs and Kreacher is keeping him out of trouble," the wrinkly elf retorted, examining his yellowed fingernails.

Harry let his wand arm flop back to his side with an exasperated huff. "Kreacheeeer," he whined. "I'm too tired for this! You knew what I wanted. Where is he?"

The recalcitrant little imp regarded his Master from beneath slyly hooded lids for several weighted moments before he turned on his heel and marched down the hall. He paused long enough to tap one clawed nail against another door thrice, and then with another _crack_ he was gone again.

"Ugh," Harry groaned at the ceiling. Trapped in a dusty old house with a psychotic elf and murderous sociopath. If he weren't mad already, Harry felt that he certainly would be soon enough.

Hesitantly reaching for the handle of the door the house elf had indicated, Harry gripped the Elder Wand in a sweaty palm. It was locked, but a trusty Alohamora took care of that easily enough. Wrenching it open quickly, he jabbed the wand inside.

"What the fuck," the raven wizard muttered incredulously.

A linen closet. Stuffed roughly in the bottom and vindictively covered in moth-eaten towels lay the mighty and fearsome Dark Lord.

Covering his face with both hands, Harry emitted a short chuckle, the sound of which was strangled and admittedly deranged.

 

By the time he collapsed into his own bed sometime during the early morning hours, the Boy Who Lived was out before his head even hit the pillow.

 

 


	6. You Lookin' at Me But I'm Lookin' Through You, I See the Blood in Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give credit to my favorite HP fanfic author Nocturnememory for two phrases used in this chapter. Props to anyone who can identify them in the comment section. Though her chillingly beautiful series Ichor is no longer on AO3, it remains an inspiration to me for writing in general.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Oh, I see the truth in your lies._

_I see nobody by your side,_

_But I'm with you when you're all alone,_

_And you correct me when I'm lookin' wrong._

_I see your soul through your window pain,_

_Mirror on the wall._

"Mirror" Lil' Wayne ft. Bruno Mars

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Kreacher sees that his Master is finally awake. Good for nothing layabout sleeps the whole day away while poor Kreacher cleans and cleans..."

The toad-like croak of the house elf's droning monologue was punctuated by the sound of heavy drapes being ripped back, and the room was suddenly aglow with unfiltered sunlight. Blinking blearily and turning his head away from the source of illumination, Harry stretched languorously. "'Time is it?" he rasped, arms thrown above his head and reaching toward the headboard.

"Half past two. In the  _afternoon_ , Master," Kreacher informed him gravely, as though someone had just died.

"'S fine," Harry muttered, flapping a hand dismissively in the little elf's direction. Rolling over, the young wizard buried his face in the duvet and continued to wriggle and wallow within the confines of his blanket nest. Kreacher looked on for a moment with a curled lip before snapping his fingers twice. With the first, a breakfast tray appeared on the bedside table, and with the second the elf was gone.

"Ahhh," Harry sighed with satisfaction, finally rolling back over to lounge spread eagle on his very comfortable and very real bed. When had he last slept so well? He couldn't even recall a time. His body felt weightless, his mind at peace. Rather than the haggard exhaustion that had somehow become the norm, the raven felt well rested and ready to take on the world for the first time in recent memory.

 

 After piling a few slices of bacon onto a piece of toast, Harry sat back to munch and contemplate his next move. Absently brushing crumbs off of his wrinkled white tee and onto the sheets, he decided that regrouping with the rest of the trio was definitely in order. Hermione was probably pulling her hair out by now, and, as he could readily admit to himself, her thinking and planning skills had been the key factor to their success thus far. But first...

Harry stood, wiping his fingers on his trousers, and crept his way down the hall to the neighboring bedroom. Dismantling the heavy wards on the door, he stood, wand at the ready, and tentatively peeked his head inside.

 

The room was dark and silent, and Harry could make out a prone form on the bed. Tip-toeing as quietly as he could toward the unconscious figure, he took a long moment to observe his enemy.

The man, for that was nearly what he was now, appeared soft and relaxed in slumber. Dark hair cascaded in silky tresses over the pillow and long dark lashes brushed over his high cheekbones. Harry could just make out a hint of stubble in the darkness across the man's broad jaw, bracketing his surprisingly lush mouth. Low-set yet perfectly sculpted brows gave him a serious countenance even in repose.

Below, the bulky masculine form did not resemble that of Voldemort's in the slightest. Dingy shredded robes stretched too tight across a broad muscular torso, and he glimpse chiseled forearms and calves from beneath too short fabric. Standing tall, he imagined that the other man would positively tower over him. Harry swallowed dryly with an audible  _gulp_. The Dark Lord was  _fit_ , and distinctly intimidating.

Backing slowly away as though from a dangerous animal, the teen fumbled for the door handle behind him before making a swift tactical retreat. He replaced the wards on the door, and then added another half dozen nasty surprises just for good measure.

Harry blew out a nervous breath, noticing with some confusion that his heart was slamming rapidly against his ribcage. Hair still prickly ominously, the raven left in search of his wayward elf.

 

 

Kreacher mercifully managed to produce jeans, trainers, and a button down shirt in a size appropriate for his new and improved body, this time with the accompanying underthings. Dawning them in the kitchen, during which time his elf sniffed exaggeratedly and with great indignance several times, Harry set about giving the creature explicit instructions.

"First off," he began seriously, "I need you to keep the prisoner in his room. Do not let him leave under any circumstances. You may restrain or incapacitate him if necessary," and as the elf's eyes gleamed with savage delight he rushed to expand, "but  _only_ in a nonviolent manner and  _only_ if necessary. This is an order, understand?"

Kreacher sneered at him but managed a minute nod of acquiescence.

"Secondly, if anything happens out of the ordinary or he gives you too much trouble, you are to retrieve me  _immediately_. Yes?"

"Oh yes, great and powerful Master. Is there anything else little old Kreacher can be doing for you?" the wrinkly house elf asked, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm.

"Yes, I'd like you to take me to Ron and Hermione now," he said primly, thrusting out his palm and wiggling his fingers expectantly. "Also, you probably should avoid using the door to his room."

Kreacher seized his hand and with a resounding  _crack_ they disapparated away.

 

As they reappeared somewhere outdoors, Kreacher snatched his hand back and, wiping it disgustedly on his tunic, promptly vanished again.

"Little shite," Harry mumbled under his breath, looking about in an effort to get his bearings.

He was standing just outside the painted wooden gate of a small garden path, leading up to a quaint and homey cottage. To his right, a few hundred yards away, the ground dropped away into a craggy cliff face, and beyond that the sea stretched all the way to the horizon.

 

Pushing open the small gate with a faint  _squeak_ of rusty hinges, Harry grinned and inhaled the muggy salty air. To either side raised garden beds housed herbs not quite big enough to harvest yet. Flower buds of every color variety were just beginning to peak through the leaves of various bushes and stalks. It appeared that his friends had found themselves improved accommodations as well.

Halfway down the short path the front door opened and a tall man with long red hair stepped out, wand aloft. "Who goes there?" he called out.

A head of unmistakable bushy brown hair peeked around the man's side, and then with a high-pitched squeal darted forward. Hermione Granger charged toward Harry, looking a strange mix of equal parts furious and overjoyed, but skidded to a halt after only a few steps.

Her brows drew together and her wand was pointed straight into Harry's face faster than he could blink. Hermione's amber eyes traced over him from head to toe and back again before she spoke in a wavering voice, "Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me," he replied, still grinning like a fool. Bill Weasely stepped out of the doorway and cautiously approached the pair. His golden-tinged eyes shifted distrustfully over Harry as well.

"Steady, Hermione," the ginger warned, wand aimed at Harry's chest.

"What's happened to you?" She questioned, staring into his emerald orbs as though trying to divine his very soul.

"It's a long story, 'Mione. Maybe I can tell you inside?"

"Oi, Harry!" a familiar voice called from the doorway as another redhead burst forth onto the garden path.

"Stay back, Ron," Bill hollered back, raising one hand over his shoulder to signal for his brother to halt. "Ask the questions, Hermione," he said grimly to the girl in front of him.

"I know the protocol," she snipped back, but her eyes never stop shifting over Harry's own.

"Any questions you like," Harry affirmed solemnly. He eyed Bill's white-knuckled grip and bowed his head to the other man deferentially, slowly raising his own hands, palms up and visibly empty.

"Harry, mate!" Ron called excitedly from the porch. "Hurry up with the bloody security check, you two!"

"Quiet," the elder brother growled over his shoulder.

 

Hermione licked her lips nervously. "What did I say to Ron the first time we all met?" she asked, voice firming with determination.

Harry couldn't help the crooked smile that spread across his face despite the tense atmosphere. "You told him that he was going about turning his rat yellow entirely the wrong way, and that he had dirt on his nose."

The young witch's lip twitched briefly up at the corner, but she continued on seriously. "What is your patronus and why?"

 "Prongs, a stag. It was my dad's Animagus form when he was in school with the rest of the Marauders," the raven rattled off easily.

Hermione nodded slightly and allowed her wand arm to relax just a fraction. Parting her lips hesitantly, her face looked almost regretful as she asked her last question. "Where was your first Hogwarts letter address to?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise and then drew low with irritation. "Hermione," he warned, eyes flicking briefly to Bill. She was the only person he'd ever told about the cupboard under the stairs, during the long and terrifyingly lonely nights on the run when Ron had left them.

"Answer the question, Harry," she whispered, features twisted apologetically.

They stared at one another in heavy silence for a long moment. Bill shifted his stance anxiously.

"The smallest bedroom," he seethed through gritted teeth, not meeting anyone's eye.

"Oh, Harry," his closest friend gasped and threw herself at him, but Bill closed an iron hand over her shoulder and pulled her back.

"He's lying," the half-wolf snapped, attempting to push the smaller woman behind him. Harry raised his hands in placation again, and took a halting step back.

"I-" Harry began, but the bushy-haired witch cut him off as she squirmed out of Bill's grasp.

"I  _know_ ," she reprimanded the other man with a dirty look. "That's the point." And with that she jumped into Harry's arms.

 

Arms wrapped tight around his favorite person in the world, Harry buried his face into her wild mane and breathed her in. "You're a terrible person," he rasped.

"I know, I'm so sorry," she choked into his shoulder. "You look so different and I had to be sure. Anyone could steal your memories, so I had to pick something emotional," she rambled, and he could feel wetness seeping into his shirt.

Finally pulling back, she looked into his eyes searchingly again before abruptly slapping him.

"Ouch, 'Mione!" he protested, rubbing at his stinging pec. 

"You deserved that one, mate." Harry glanced up to find a grinning Ron patting a perplexed Bill on the shoulder.

"We thought you were dead!" she scolded shrilly. "No word for hours, and we couldn't go back, and then Kreacher shows up out of nowhere talking about danger and stealing the sword," the witch rattled off. She stomped her foot and tried to smack him again but Harry caught her hand, pulling her forward and tucking her under his arm.

"Funny story, that," he said, grinning sheepishly.

"Good to have you back, mate," Ron chuckled and bumped shoulders with him. The ginger paused then, a puzzled expression on his face. "You lose your glasses?"

"Oh, that's it then?" Hermione asked incredulously, pulling Harry along the path. Bill had tucked his wand away, and with a bemused shake of his head led the procession into the house. "Of everything that's changed, the glasses are the only thing you notice? How observant, Ronald."

"Hey" the gangly teen grumbled, looking Harry over again more carefully this time. His eyes suddenly grew round. "Blimey, Harry! You're nearly as tall as I am now! Magical growth spurt or sum'mat?"

"Something like that," Harry responded, feeling lighter than he had in a very long time. Hermione snorted.

"Not the runt of the litter anymore, ay?" Ron snickered with a roguish grin.

It was Harry's turn to "Hey!"

 

The reunited group made it into the cozy shell-dotted cottage where Fleur met them in the kitchen. "'Arry!" she exclaimed, pulling him away from the others in order to bestow a kiss on each cheek. "I zought I 'eard your voice, and I am so glad to see zat I was right! We feared ze worst when you did not come back to us," the Veela explained. "Oh, my little 'Arry ez all grown up now!"

"Thanks, glad to be back," Harry smiled back, cheeks reddening.

 "Sorry about a moment ago," Bill muttered to him, jostling Harry with an elbow. The heavily scarred man rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and explained, "We've been basically been hiding out here on high alert since the wedding, and when Ron and the others showed up here without you, bloody and frantic, well..."

"S'alright," Harry replied kindly. "I'd have done the same in your shoes. And I know I don't look like myself anymore, so you've a right to be suspicious."

"Yeah," Ron cut in loudly. "What's up with the new look?"

"Err," he said, eyes darting to the wedded couple. "It's a bit complicated, actually..."

"I imagine so," Hermione murmured, a speculative gleam in her eye. "It's a bit stuffy in here, shall we...?" Without further ado, the witch began pushing her two friends toward the back door.

Fleur scoffed, tossing her silver hair and opening her mouth to protest, but Bill wrapped an arm around his wife consolingly. "Let the kids catch up, dear, and then I'm sure they'll give us an update." He caught Harry's eye meaningfully as the raven passed and received a short nod in return.

" _Kids_ ," Ron grumbled, wrinkling his nose at his older brother as he closed the door behind them.

 

 

"How is everyone? Were any of you hurt at the Manor?" Harry asked as the group wound its way down a grassy slope toward the cliff side.

"Dean and Luna were fine, Griphook needed to regrow some bones in his legs, and Ollivander has definitely seen better days, but Fleur patched them up and sent them over to Aunt Muriel's," Ron explained. He hesitated before saying, "Dobby..."

Harry swallowed around the lump that suddenly lodged itself in his throat. "Is he...?" he trailed off, afraid he already knew the answer. The odd little elf was the most loyal creature Harry had ever known; there was no way that Dobby would have left him behind, unless...

Ron nodded stonily and raised a long arm to point ahead. Harry followed the line of sight  and saw a freshly turned patch of earth, marked with a small white boulder. He stopped dead in his tracks, and it was a long moment before we was able to tear his eyes away to look down at Hermione.

"You okay?" he asked roughly, touching her elbow. He noticed for the first time the bandages on her forearm and neck.

She stared forward at the blue-gray sea and shrugged. "It's war, isn't it? I wasn't gravely injured, and I suppose that's the important thing." Ron wrapped an arm around her as they walked the rest of the way down the path and Hermione rested her head against his shoulder.

 As they reached the stone marker by the cliff's edge, Harry stopped to pay his respects. Kneeling down, he brushed his fingers over the engraved stone, and whispered brokenly, "Thank you for getting them to safety."

After a moment he stood, blinking away the moisture that had gathered at the corners of his eyes. With a flick of his wrist the Wand of Destiny heeded his call and a bundle of lilies joined the other wildflowers, hats, and socks laid upon the house elf's grave.

 

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Harry meandered father down the seaside path as grass and dirt turned into loam and reeds. His friends followed and after a few minutes of walking Ron bumped elbows with him.

"Sooo," the redhead drawled quietly. "Are we allowed to ask about the makeover yet?"

Harry gave a tightlipped smile and jerked his head toward a sandy berm off to their left. Collapsing into the soft substrate, he laid back and folded his arms behind his head. "Yeah," he sighed, "you can ask now."

Hermione curled up next to him, bare toes buried into the warm earth and untamed hazel ringlets splayed across the ground. Ron flopped down next to her with a grunt.

"May we also ask about the fancy wand trick you did just now?" his clever bushy-haired friend inquired with a raised brow.

"Might as well start from the beginning," the raven wizard said, and with a deep breath began to describe the past twenty four hours the group had been separated.

 

Harry explained the chain of events that occurred after Dobby had disapparated them out, all the way up to meeting Death at King's Cross Station. Hermione had had to  _shush_  Ron several times already, and nearly had to shove her own fist in her mouth to restrain her own barrage of questions. When Harry unbuttoned his shirt to show them the proof of his claim as Master of Death, all hell broke loose.

"HAH!" Ron shouted, jumping to his feet with a finger jabbed in Harry's direction. The triumphant finger then swiveled to Hermione as he said, "Hah!" again.

"What!" she squawked, jaw falling open. "That was just a children's story, a  _myth_ , for goodness sake! I thought you were going to tell us that you were hallucinating or something!"

"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction too," Harry laughed, nodding to the ginger.

Ron managed a half cartwheel, falling onto his side, before he grabbed two fistfuls of sand and threw them into the air. "The Hallows are REAL!" he crowed to the sky.

"Impossible," Hermione goggled, eyes glazing over.

"We have the unbeatable wand!"

Hermione finally closed her slackened jaw and prompted skeptically, "Well go on, let's see it then."

Harry held out an empty palm and concentrated. The Death Stick appeared in his grasp as the vertical line on his chest flashed gold.

"Woah," breathed Ron, enraptured by the sight. He shuffled forward on his knees and reached out. "Can I?"

Harry shrugged and offered it to the other wizard. As soon as Ron's fingers closed around the knotted wood, the length of elder vanished entirely.

"Aww," the redhead pouted.

Harry closed his fist and the circle around his heart glimmered briefly. When he opened his hand again, the Resurrection Stone sat innocuously in the center of his palm.

Hermione smacked away Ron's questing fingers. "And what does that one do, exactly?" she asked, eyeing it warily.

"Summons ghosts of the dead," the raven replied evasively. With a thought the little black rock was gone again.

"I haven't actually tried this last one, but it should just be my dad's old cloak," he said, and promptly winked out of sight.

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed giddily.

Harry turned the cloak on and off like a light switch a few times in rapid succession before Hermione thumped him. "Stop it," she groused. "You're giving me a headache."

"Suppose this means we can't borrow or share it anymore," Ron pointed out morosely, plopped his rear end back into the sand. "So are you, like, a grim reaper now or whatever?"

Harry shook his head and continued with his story. He skipped over his multiple gruesome deaths, not wanting to rile up his friends. He also avoided any mention of the mutilated soul shard that resided within him, not yet ready to part with that information.

"So, basically, I managed to defeat him and Nagini, and now I need your brains to retrieve the last two horcruxes," he finished a bit lamely, tone carefully chipper.

 

Silence.

 

"We win!" Ron bellowed to the sky, rocketing off of the ground again. "We win the bloody war! Take _that_ , arseholes!"

"Sit down, Ronald," Hermione commanded, expression unreadable. " _Why_ , Harry Potter," she began slowly, a note of long-suffering patience in her voice, "do I get the feeling that you've left out nearly _all_ of the pertinent details?"

"Wait, what?" The redhead sobered instantly. "Why are we not winning?"

"I'm not sure." The witch's shrewd eyes bored holes into Harry's skull. "Spill," she demanded, tone brooking no argument.

"Well..." he coughed, scratching his chin and avoiding her eyes, caught out entirely.

"Harry."

"C'mon mate," wheedled Ron. "We're your best friends. No secrets, right? And _please_ , for the love of Merlin, tell me it's really as easy as you just made it sound."

Harry took in a deep breath and held it. There was no escaping their expectant gazes, and  no easy way to explain away all that he had done. "I-may-have-brought-the-Dark-Lord-back-from-the-dead-and-am-sort-of-holding-him-hostage," he let out in a garbled rush.

 

More silence.

 

Ron appeared to have but struck dumb entirely, but Hermione only blinked twice and prompted in a deceptively sweet manner, "I  _know_ that I just misheard you. Come again?"

"Look," Harry pleaded, feeling equal parts desperate and vexed. "It's the best way. Death and I talked it over, and I can't just  _kill_ him. And what if I left him dead and he disappeared for another decade? This way I can keep an eye on him _and_ find the other two horcruxes, and then boom, checkmate! Plus I figure he drove himself mad splitting his soul apart too many times, so if I just put them back together again-" He meshed the fingers of both hands together in demonstration, as though it were as simple as clicking two puzzle pieces into place.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione's choked whisper cut off his manic rambling. Covering her mouth with a trembling hand and large eyes welling with tears, she pushed off of the ground and walked a little ways away, shoulders hunched and arms folding in around herself.

"Hermione!" he called, dismayed.

"Just leave her be for a moment, mate," Ron suggested faintly, still seemingly flabbergasted. The two boys sat in awkward silence for a long minute. Harry picked at his fingernails, angry at the twisted feeling of guilt that welled up in him.

 

"It's a mad plan, but I suppose you already know that," his redheaded friend offered offhandedly.

"Yeah, but what else was I supposed to do?" Harry sulked. The other wizard shrugged.

"Way I see it, it's not like the bloke can kill you, so we really _could_ gain the upper hand here." Ever the strategist, Ronald Weasely was able to see the pros and cons of any situation. "Still though, holding You-Know-Who  _prisoner_? You're barking," he said with a forced chuckle.

"Well, he _can_ kill me, I just don't stay dead for long," Harry responded wryly, and the two shared a brief snigger.

"Better you than me. I won't lie and say I'm not a bit envious about your new superpowers, but I'd still say you drew the short straw, mate." Harry smirked and jabbed his friend in the ribs with his elbow.

Hermione wandered back toward them then, eyes rimmed red but face composed. She took a deep breath and let it out steadily. "What do you need us to do, Harry?"

 

 

A few hours later saw the sun setting in a pinkish-orange haze across the shoreline horizon and the group ensconced within in the sitting room of Shell Cottage amongst empty tea cups and crumpled bits of parchment. Bill and Fleur Weasley weren't exactly happy with the vague half-answers Harry provided, but were generally appeased to know that he was safe, secure, and had a plan. Harry had indeed decided that "magical growth spurt" and a hasty retreat were good enough responses to inquiries about his changed appearance, at least for now.

The trio discussed the likelihood of Gringotts and Hogwarts as the hiding places for the remaining two horcruxes, and both of his friends were insulting shocked at his well thought out insight on the matter. They tossed about ideas in whispers near the fireside, scraping together a workable plan. Both Ron and Hermione argued fiercely against staying put while Harry retrieved the artifacts, but he managed to beat them into bitter submission with the logic that he was invincible now while they very much were not.

 

 

 _'You do realize,'_ whispered a ghostly voice suddenly in his mind, _'that I could tell you anything you wish to know, yes? Why this charade with your little friends?'_

Harry blinked stupidly for a moment, staring at nothing.

"All right there, mate?" Ron asked.

Wiggling his pinky finger in his ear canal, the raven grunted in affirmation and got back to work.

 

 

As Harry prepared to leave he pulled Hermione aside into the deserted entry way and enfolded her in a tight embrace. "That's it?" he questioned softly, voice laced with wry humor. "No smarting reprimand for being an idiot about this whole thing? Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione?"

She pulled back from him with a smirk, but it quickly melted into fragile worry. "I don't think you're an idiot, Harry. I think that this whole situation is so messed up, and that we shouldn't even  _be_ here, but here we are anyways. We're all just doing the best we can. You made a valid point earlier about the war dragging on for another decade if we don't do something now. I'm terrified and I absolutely hate that you have to do this alone, not to mention that I still don't understand what you mean to do after the last two pieces are destroyed, but in all honesty, it's the best plan we've got." She cast her gaze to the ground and crossed her arms across her chest defensively. "Also, I'm trying really hard not to be upset that you're keeping secrets from me still, because I know you must have a very good reason for it."

"I do, I promise, and I'll tell you when the time is right," he said gently, chucking her under the chin with a knuckle.

She have him a warm, watery-eyed smile. "I also know that you'll call us if you _do_ need help with anything after all,  _right_ Harry?"

"Yes'sir," he confirmed with a sharp salute.

 

 

 

After a long round of emotional goodbyes and promises to return soon with an update, the young wizard meandered back down the dark garden path and called his elf.

"Master," Kreacher croaked in greeting.

"Kreacher," Harry drawled in return. He narrowed his eyes down at the little creature, who looked suspiciously cheerful. "How goes it?"

"Splendidly, Master," the wrinkly little thing retorted, clamping long spindly fingers around Harry's wrist impatiently.

Space warped around the pair as they apparated into the kitchen of Riddle Manor.

"Splendidly how?" he prompted.

Kreacher ignored his inquiry and bustled over to the stove. "Master must be hungry. Kreacher makes all of his favorites, and Kreacher knows how Master likes his treacle-"

Gut sinking, Harry scurried out of the kitchen, up the grand flight of stairs, and down the hall to the master bedroom. Dismantling the wards as quickly as possible, he dreaded what he would find.

The raven-haired wizard burst haphazardly into the room, panting lightly, and then skidded to an abrupt halt.

 

Eyes so dark they may as well have been black froze him in place. Harry blinked dumbly at the scene ahead of him.

The Dark Lord sat propped against the headboard of his bed, legs straight out in front of him and hands together in his lap. Thick black cords like vines encircled his limbs and body countless times, and Harry could see where they dug into his pale flesh. A long strand of rusted heavy metal chain was draped whimsically over the man, not appearing to actually be attached or fastened in any way. To complete the absurd ensnarement, a length of rope was messily knotted around his neck, wrists, and ankles like some sort of strange stockade.

What remained of Voldemort's tattered old robes was bunched up in scraps around his pelvis like a loin cloth.

The man had the air of a lounging king despite his predicament.

Harry brought his fist to his mouth, smooshing his lips together.

 

_Crack!_

"Kreacher did exactly as his Master commanded. The prisoner was trying to leave its room, so Kreacher restrained the nasty thing without hurting it, yes, even though Kreacher wanted to stab it in its evil little eyes," the little elf gushed smugly.

Piercing eyes flashed red and zeroed in on the house elf. The side of Tom Riddle's nose crinkled just a little, whether in disgust or ill intent the raven didn't know. Probably both, if he had to guess.

Harry dropped his hand and cleared his throat. "I wouldn't take it personally, he makes everyone feel that way," he suggested lightly to the glowering villain across from him. "Wanted to punt him out a window myself once or twice."

Kreacher let out a low animal-like growl but there was a proud twinkle in his eyes.

 

"Riiiight," Harry drawled after a moment of awkward silence became too much for him. "Let's diffuse this situation, shall we? Kreacher, why don't you finish up dinner and I'll call you when I'm ready for it?"

The crotchety old elf gave him a sulking glare and disappeared.

"Thank you for your hard work!" Harry shouted after him.

 

 _'In for a penny, in for a pound,'_ the young wizard thought, and strode over to the bed. He climbed onto the end and sat cross-legged against the footboard. The bed was large enough that several feet separated them still. "Good evening, Tom."

They openly surveyed one another in critical detail for a long minute. The older man looked much better than the previous evening. His skin, while still fairly pale, lacked the sickly yellowish cast and translucent quality it had before. There were only faint purple smudges under eyes that were no longer bloodshot. Toned, healthy musculature bulged beneath crisscrossed cords.

"Harry Potter," the other wizard eventually rumbled in a low baritone, drawing out the words as though he were tasting them on his tongue. The raven's hair prickled at the sound, but he tried not to let his disquiet show.

"How are you feeling?" he asked awkwardly, struggling to keep meeting the Dark Lord's gaze. There was something intensely discomfiting about being stared at so intently.

Tom Riddle's face was a nonchalant mask, seemingly at ease. His chest rose and fell, pressing against the bonds, in a steady rhythm. "Different."

There was another awkward silence where Harry began fiddling with the hem of his denims.

 

"How?"

Eyes flicking up briefly at the question, the raven contemplated the most strategic answer. "I already told you," he finally said. "Soul magic. Master of Death and all."

A flash of crimson preceded a minute narrowing of the man's eyes. "Yes," he drawled in that fathomless voice. "So you've said."

The raven fought the urge to squirm as those keen eyes attempted to burrow into his skull.

 

"I nearly feel the need the need to thank you," the other wizard began slowly. Emerald eyes jolted up, wide in astonishment. The Dark Lord closed his own heavy lids, and Harry would be damned if the he didn't look exhausted. He kept them shut and rested his head back as the spoke. The rough fiber of the rope around his neck tightened, chaffing the delicate flesh. "It seems that I lost my way some time ago. I knew, of course, that I'd been going mad, but the thought would skitter away every time I grasped hold of it. I was lost in a haze of blood and hatred."

Goosepimples broke out across Harry's body as the deep bass of Tom Riddle's voice reverberated in the silence. It was a powerful, commanding sound. There was a slight raspy quality to it, as though from disuse. He felt entranced by the man before him. Harry's brain spared a brief thought to remember an equally entrancing boy, trapped in a diary long ago...

"But you, The Chosen One, my prophesized downfall, pulled me out of that suffocating darkness." Sly eyes fluttered open to pin Harry down, and he could scarcely draw breath under the weight of it. "Perhaps that's what the prophesy meant all along?" he mused wryly. "Perhaps you, _Harry Potter_ , were always meant to save me from myself."

"My mind is clear, for the first time in memory, and that is a truly great asset. You have given me my life back. Much though I am loathe to acknowledge it, it would appear that I am in the your debt."

Mouth open and eyes goggling, the raven could only stare at the other man in shock.

"Err," Harry stuttered, utterly floored. He'd not anticipated it being so easy to convince Lord Voldemort of the error of his ways.

 

Not knowing what else to do, Harry gave a flick of his wrist and the Death Stick banished the ropes and chains binding the Dark Lord, though he left the dark cords in place. "Sorry about all that. Kreacher is very... overzealous sometimes."

Harry glanced about, searching for something to say. His eyes landed upon a bowl on the sideboard. Upon closer inspection it appeared to contain some sort of grainy slop, and he could see several fat slimy earthworms writhing within the unknown substance.

"Uh, what  _is_ that?" he asked distractedly, gesturing toward the bowl.

"My dinner, apparently. Your rabid little mutt appears to be holding a grudge against me for some reason." The voice was laced with just a touch of humor.

 "Wonder why," Harry muttered sarcastically, banishing the offending gruel as well.

 

"Welp," Harry chirped finally, popping the 'p' with his mouth. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't believe you right off the bat, seeing as you murdered me a whole bunch of times just yesterday." He regarded the older wizard warily for a moment. "If I release you, will you behave?"

Tom cocked his head to the side for a moment, features blank. "Most likely. Curiously enough, I find myself quite tired and hungry. It's rather distracting."

"Curiously?" Harry inquired, hesitating.

His enemy bowed his head a fraction. "My resurrected form turned out to be more golem than man. I had no need to eat or sleep."

"Blergh," Harry said with a shiver, remembering the pale scaly monstrosity this man had been not long ago at all. "That's really creepy, y'know?"

Tom smirked, and again the image of a handsome young Slytherin was superimposed over him in Harry's mind.

 

"Right," he said, mouth set in a determined line after another awkward moment of silence. "Kreacher!" The elf  _cracked_ back into the room.

"Let's get this man some clothes, please, and  _real_ ones, if you would. And then we will take our dinner up here, hold the worms."

Kreacher looked as though Christmas had been cancelled. If looks could kill, there was no doubt that Harry would be sitting on a bench in another plane just then. With a small  _pop_ a stack of neatly folded clothes appeared at Harry's knee, and then the elf disappeared again.

"Such a treasure, isn't he?" Harry remarked cheerfully, shaking out a set of denim jeans and a button-down exactly like his own, though this shirt was an offending shade of bright pink. He supposed that they _did_ fit within the definition of ' _real'_ after all.

"Riiiight," he muttered again, surveying his prisoner one last time with thinly veiled trepidation. The Dark Lord raised a challenging eyebrow, the tiniest of smirks back at the corner of his wicked lips. "I'd really appreciate if you didn't make me regret this. Relashio."

 

Tom Riddle languorously flexed his arms and cracked his neck. Uncoiling gracefully, he resembled nothing so much as a snake as his robust form rose from the bed. Harry gulped as the man slowly straightened, taking a moment to roll his shoulders back. His imposing mass shadowed the raven as the teen shrunk back against the footboard. The smirk grew into a predatory leer, white teeth flashing.

Harry's eyes flicked downward just as the last frayed shreds of modesty fell away, revealing the fact that Lord Voldemort's human body was generously _more_ than proportionate.

"Sweet Merlin, I'm regretting this already!" he yelped, scrambling backwards off the other side of the bed. In an uncoordinated fumble he managed to throw the clothing at Tom, slap a hand over his eyes, and point his wand defensively in the other man's direction. "This was such a bad idea," he moaned, fingers digging into his temples.

A chuckle like rolling thunder permeated the air, and then Harry could hear the rustling sound of fabric. He hedged back another step or two, mentally counting to ten. Peeking through his fingers as quickly as possible, he saw the other man zipping the fly on his trousers and immediately snapped them closed again. It was nothing that would have caused him to bat an eyelash inside of a dorm room, but for some reason, here and in this situation, Harry could feel the heat radiating off of his red cheeks. Another ten seconds and he snuck a second glance, deciding the coast was clear. Tom finished fastening up his shirt and began rolling up the sleeves. Rather than clashing or feminizing, the pink gave the man a sort of roguish appeal.

 

The other wizard eyed the Wand of Destiny as he worked. Harry caught a barely-there flash of crimson. "How is it that a teenage boy of mediocre power, intelligence, and skill is always one step ahead of me?"

"Sheer dumb luck, usually," Harry admitted with a shrug, letting the length of elder fall to his side but not allowing it to dissipate. The two opposing forces stared one another down again from across the bed. "So," the raven asked tensely, "what now, Tom?"

That thick brow piqued up again. "Dinner?" Tom drawled, waving a lazy hand at the bedside table. In the commotion Harry had not noticed supper arrive. It was laden with the promised steak and kidney pie, mash, roasted vegetables, and, of course, treacle tart. There were two servings of everything slopped messily onto several plates and crammed haphazardly onto a tray.

"Uh, yeah, sure," the raven mumbled, feeling decidedly wrong footed.

The Dark Lord wasted no time in securing his plate and leaning against the wall, inhaling it with only slightly less enthusiasm than Ronald Weasely. Harry gaped rudely at the man for a moment before stretching an arm across and snatching his own. He felt stupid and awkward, two men standing around in a bedroom to eat like a couple of jackasses, so he retreated to the opposite side of the room and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Picking at his food, the raven kept one eye on the other wizard and the Elder Wand tucked up under his plate.

 

Harry could only fidget and push his carrots around for a few seconds before it was already too much for him. Emerald peeked up through sooty lashes and he opened his mouth to speak, but Tom beat him to it.

"Where is my wand? It's not responding to me."

Harry frowned, thinking. The last time he'd seen it was on the kitchen floor, though it certainly wasn't there anymore. "No idea," he replied honestly.

Tom wiped a thumb across the corner of his mouth and said nothing. Seemingly absorbed in his meal, Harry watched as the Dark Lord shoveled an enormous forkful of potatoes into his mouth like a starving man. It was difficult to tear his incredulous gaze away.

"Tell me, boy," the man asked suddenly after a few more bites, eyes still downcast and tone light. "When did you learn to Occlude so well?"

"It's one of my superpowers, _old man_ ," Harry retorted sarcastically. "Why? Wishing you could pick apart my brain and find out how many of your dark, dirty secrets I know?"

 The Dark Lord gave a subtle snort and those bottomless eyes flicked over him from beneath hooded lids. "Quite a few, it would seem..."

 

There was another awkward pause where Harry stabbed at pieces of beef on his plate and tried not to implode. The sharp _clink_ of the other man's plate dropping carelessly onto the tray made him jolt and drop his fork with a loud clatter. Cringing, Harry banished his uneaten meal brought his knees up to his chest.

"So," he squeaked, cleared his throat, and tried again in a deeper register. "So, uh, what will you do now, Tom?"

"Nap, probably."

Harry frowned. "Er, no, I meant, like, in general, y'know?"

 

There was an impish gleam in Tom's eyes as he tucked his thumbs into his denim pockets and sauntered around the bed. Feeling vulnerable now on the floor, Harry attempted to stand and fold his arms nonchalantly; instead he feared that the movement came off as twitchy and uncoordinated as he felt on the inside.

"I believe that depends very much on you, _Harry_ ," he purred, placing one indecently bare foot surely in front of the other as he approached. "I am your _prisoner_ , am I not?"

Why was his throat so dry? Harry swallowed roughly and whipped his wand up as a barrier.

Another step forward and the tip of the Death Stick bumped up against a muscular sternum. Harry's eyes tracked up and up, and he suddenly felt viscerally just how much bigger the other man was. Tom Riddle was inherently a threat.

"I will put you down," the raven warned, hauntingly green eyes flashing, though it came out weaker than he intended.

Tom slowly raised one powerful arm and placed his palm on the wall parallel to Harry's head, casually leaning on it for support. He cocked his head, looking down at the raven with a fire dancing behind the black--crimson--black eyes. Those venomous pink lips parted seductively, voice so deep it was felt as much as heard. "What would you-"

 

 

_Crack!_

 

_Snap._

 

"Eep!"

 

 

_THUD._

 

"Stupify!"

 

 

Harry leapt out of the way as the Dark Lord dropped like a tree trunk, wrapped up like a mummy from shoulders to ankles with thick black cords. Clutching at the heart attempting to hammer its way out of his chest, his wide eyes found Kreacher standing in the middle of the room, fingers poised together. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Harry reacted without thought and shot an overpowered stunner at Lord Voldemort just as his body hit the floor.

The man lay face down, out like a light.

 

"Whew!" the raven wheezed, slumping against the wall and wiping the back of his hand against his sweaty brow. He sent a belated Somnus charm at the unconscious figure as well, for good measure. "Good timing, Kreacher."

"Kreacher lives to serve," the gnarled old elf drawled.

Harry levitated the body over to the bed and dumped it before ushering the house elf out of the room and re-warding the door.

"Kreacher found a cellar in the basement, cold and dark and wet. Kreacher could lock the prisoner in it, yes, to keep it out of trouble..."

"Ugh," Harry groaned, throwing a last few jinxes and hexes at the door. "No, better not. I'll keep it in mind for the future though, yeah? I think everyone just jumped the gun there a bit is all."

The elf scowled but said nothing.

"Alright," the young wizard began, running a hand through his messy hair. "I need you to monitor him at all times. Send up regular meals and supplies as necessary, but don't let him leave or get up to anything suspicious, alright? Same rules as earlier."

"Anything for Master," Kreacher mocked in a high nasally pitch, turning his back to undoubtedly skulk away and do whatever ghoulish things he got up to in his spare time.

"By the way, have you seen his wand?" Harry called after him.

The house elf paused and turned back, a mask of false innocence on his face. "Master leaves it lying about all over the house so Kreacher is picking it up, but then Kreacher lost it somewhere and cannot find it, no-"

"You _thoroughly_ lost it?"

Kreacher gave a hasty nod.

"Excellent," Harry grinned. "Make sure it stays that way until I say otherwise." The pair parted ways, neither witnessing the other's matching shit-eating grin.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Burning Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who has stuck around thus far! I've been so impressed with the turnout for this fic. When I am browsing through stories, one of the biggest factors for whether or not I click is the ratio of kudos to views. If a fic has a 10% kudo ratio, I can be fairly sure it's a good one. Even 5% is usually worthy of attention, at least up to a few thousand views. The Definition of Insanity has consistently maintained a 10-15% kudo rate, and I just couldn't be happier. You guys are the best.
> 
> With this chapter we will end one phase and begin another. I will reiterate warnings more heavily at the beginning of chapter eight, but for now let me give this disclaimer: Harry is seventeen during this story, which is the wizarding age of majority. It is for this reason that I did not mark this fic with an underage warning. If Harry's teenager status bothers you, you may want to stop reading after this chapter; things will escalate very quickly from here. That is all I'll say on the topic for now.
> 
> There are a few small details I'm not happy with in this chapter but I figure you guys would rather just have it posted now, so I'll let it go. I will go back over this whole piece and retouch when it is finished anyways, so it is what it is for now. Please feel free to point out any outright errors and I will be sure to fix them. Unless someone with prior beta experience would like to volunteer...?
> 
> Also, I realize that I've taken some liberties with the details of JKR's world. For instance, The Thieve's Downfall is something that is enabled as required, not a constant measure needing to be disabled. I hope these small changes don't bother anyone. They are purposely used as plot devices, not mistakes.
> 
> There is no corresponding song for this chapte. I imagine you'll figure out why.
> 
> Don't forget to leave feedback below!

 

 

 

 

 

The cool dew-embellished dawn saw the Chosen One squeezing through a gap in the ornate rusted gate in front of Riddle Manor. Disillusioned beneath his invisibility cloak and huddled inside of an over-sized knitted Weasley sweater, he paused just outside the wards and glanced about furtively. Envisioning a grand white marble building adorned will tall carved columns, he turned on the spot and disappeared.

The common _crack_ of apparition was scarcely registered by the few denizens of Diagon Alley that bustled up and down the street with purpose during the early morning hour. Harry climbed the stone steps and entered the bank just as the sun peeked above the rooftops against the golden sky.

 

He bypassed the two wizard guards posted outside and entered through the open bronze doors. Passing underneath the familiar plaque positioned above the entry way in warning, the raven sent out a mental message.  _'Showtime.'_   A foreign presence settled heavily against the back of his mind.

Gringotts had few patrons within the lobby, so Harry made his way past the rows of desks on silenced footsteps without difficulty. Approaching the pretentious throne-like seat of an official looking goblin, the Death Stick emitted a misty yellow curse that the young wizard never thought he'd need to cast.

"Imperio," he whispered as quietly as he could. His magic lashed out and dominated the pompous creature before him with little effort, subjugating the goblin to his will. It was an alien sensation, a sort of tingling warmth that connected him to the other being as though with a thread of fate.

 

With a thought, the goblin, an older male in a fine embroidered red velvet jacket, slipped from his stool and made his way slowly toward a heavy iron door not far from his station in the vast hall. His expression was curiously blank but none of the other goblins paid any mind to his quiet exit. As they started down a dark roughly-hewn stone passageway, Harry glanced about warily, the flickering shadows cast by torchlight constantly catching his peripheral. So far so good, but he was far from out of the woods yet.

Another path bisected their trajectory after only a few moments of walking, a pair of steel rails threaded into the stone floor along one side. Harry maintained his concentration on his goblin puppet, who emitted a sharp whistle. A tarnished metal cart rolled out of the darkness to his left, tottering and creakingas it went. It came to a halt directly in front of them, and the pair climbed unceremoniously inside.

The goblin official placed his long-fingered hands onto a simple set handlebars and the cart jerked into motion with an offending _squeal_. Harry gripped the sides with white knuckles as they picked up speed, hurtling impossibly fast, and faster still, down into the chilled earth. He gritted his teeth with each jarring twist and turn, eyes locked ahead toward his prize.

 

_'There is a trap ahead that hasn't been disabled. Put the goblin under your cloak, but make sure to keep his hands on the bars.'_

 

Harry obeyed the voiceless command without question, scooting forward and lifting the hem of the invisibility cloak, securing the small creature and the entire steering column between his knees. Scant moments passed before the cart shot like a rocket from a rocky tunnel and onto a suspended track high above a cavernous space. Harry glimpsed a twinkling shine above his head a split second before ice cold water rained down upon them with a dull _roar_.

The raven moved back to his seat and cast a strong drying charm over everything within the cart with a pale shaking hand. Darkness reigned, interrupted by brief flashes of garish light that made his eyes sting, as they careened deeper and deeper, farther below the surface than he ever thought possible.

With a horrible ear-rending _screech_ the cart brakes engaged like a physical impact. Harry tumbled forward, bracing his hands on the front of the cart and barely managing to avoid crushing the goblin in front of him. He had no idea how the creature was able to remain standing so effortlessly; he felt an ache in his neck like whiplash already. The rail car slowed rapidly, rocking roughly back before coming to a standstill.

Harry nearly tumbled onto the freezing stone floor, glad that he'd been too antsy to eat breakfast before departing the Manor. His stomach did a few somersaults and he was already dreading the return trip. The nameless goblin hopped down from the cart and waddled forward, entirely indifferent to the ordeal in its magical stupor.

 

Looking up at an enormous rectangular door covered with patinated filigree, the young wizard gave a mental prod and sent the goblin forward. It's clawed fingers traced down the metallic surface like a caress, and a series of _clicks_ could be heard from the other side like tumbling locks. A small depression in the shape of a doorway appeared, around six feet in height. The metal within the angular outline rippled and receded, revealing a dark passage into the vault before them. Harry removed his invisibility and lit the tip of his wand before sending the goblin inside, following cautiously behind.

 

 _'I wouldn't touch anything but what you've come to retrieve, if I were you. It would be a_ terribly _slow death, after all.'_ The purring tone within his skull seemed to suggest the opposite, but Harry rolled his eyes and ignored the quip.

 

Holding the Elder Wand high above his head, Harry surveyed the unquantifiable hoard that was the Lestrange Vault.

Gold, silver, emerald, ruby glittered and winked at him in semidarkness. Mountains of riches packed the space, stretching into the pitch blackness farther in.

"Bollocks," Harry muttered under his breath, shoulders slumping under the weight of the impossible task.

Harry wandered about for a few minutes, careful to touch nothing. The vault was enormous, much larger than his own, and the disorganized heaping piles of treasure did nothing to aid his search. Knowing it would likely be useless, Harry tried a quick “Accio Hufflepuff’s Cup!” nevertheless. Nothing happened.

He stopped to examine a few golden chalices, but in the end found nothing. Shivering at the sight of a mutated reptilian skeleton with two heads, Harry wandered back to the front of the vault where the goblin stood gazing placidly into space.

 

‘ _Can I get a little help here?’_ he thought to the spectral being residing in his brain.

‘ _I'd rather just watch you puzzle it out, really,’_ the amused voice whispered back.

“Jackass,” Harry grumbled aloud. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, trying to recall the little cup in detail. It was then that he felt it.

 

Deep in the recesses of his mind there was a subtle niggling sensation. As the focused on it the feeling grew stronger, almost like little worms burrowing about in his skull. Hair prickling and a strange buzzing in his ears, the raven screwed up his face and allowed the sensation to overtake him…

 

There!

 

Harry’s head snapped up and his eyes opened, gaze falling to a carved stone niche near the high ceiling. Perched on the ledge, a familiar little golden cup with a badger engraved on the front glittered back at him.

 

Grinning and brandishing the Elder Wand, he commanded, “Accio broom.”

A nearby pile of trinkets exploded in a shower of coins, gems, and baubles. An antique broom shot forth and smacked into Harry’s expectant hand.

 

“ARGH!”

 

_Pop!_

 

The dry gnarled wood was molten hot as it collided with the tender flesh of his palm. He made to drop it with a pained shout, but with a merry sound it exploded into several replicas of the exact same broom. One of them smacked him right across the face as it fell, and Harry staggered back, clutching his left eye with one hand and patting at his singed clothing with the other. “Shite!” he cursed. He could make out a faint wispy chuckle echoing through his mind.

He removed his hand from his wounded face and tried to blink his eye open. Pain lanced through his nerve endings and he let out a hiss, squinting at the wretched pile of six innocuous looking brooms on the floor before him. A tentative exploration with delicate fingertips told him that a nasty blister was rising from the flushed and stinging skin on his brow and eyelid.

“Well shite,” he said again and approached the brooms cautiously. When nothing happened he crouched down and poked one with his wand. Still nothing. With his burned hand he carefully stretched out a finger and, holding his breath, poked again.

 

“ARGH!”

 

_Pop!_

 

A half dozen more duplicates flew through the air, one pressing against his knee like a red hot brand and the blunt end of another bonking him in the temple before they too clattered to the ground and joined the growing heap. Harry reared back and fell flat onto his backside. “Bloody hell,” he panted, one eye fixed on the pile with much trepidation.

The raven sat there for a long minute running through his options. He looked back up at the cup, twinkling tauntingly in the wandlight, and let out a great gusty sigh.

 

Clamoring back to his feet, Harry took off his burgundy jumper and held it up like a matador’s cape. Holding his blistered palm behind it, he commanded, “Up!”

One of the brooms at the bottom of the pile shot up as though drawn magnetically to him. He fumbled to catch it with the knitted fabric and already he could feel the intense heat seeping through, the smell of burning cloth permeating the air. As he haphazardly swaddled the handle as fast as he could, it exploded into duplicates again. He turned his face to the side, teeth gritted, and hung on with an iron grip.

Hopping onto the real broom before the fakes had even settled to the ground, Harry pushed off of the ground with all his might and shot toward his prize. His sweater was was actively smoking now, and there was an intense pain where his ruined palm connected with the burning wood through hot ashes.

 

Harry looped near the high corner, snatching the cup with his good hand in a blur of motion during the hairpin turn, and hurtled back toward open ground. A searing agony spread through him as the fabric of his trousers burned away to expose his thighs and calves to the molten broom handle. His eyes streamed and he choked on a ragged breath as the ground rushed up to meet him.

Perched as he was to avoid contact with the cursed broom, Harry hit the rough stone floor with an unpleasant _slap_ and another explosion of duplicates. He rolled, tangled up with wooden brands, for several feet before he managed to scramble to safety amid the _pop_ and _clatter_ of doppelgangers hitting the floor.

 

The raven lay flat on his back, horcrux clutched in one steely white-knuckled grasp, trembling and gasping. He could only remain there for several minutes, one eye round and unseeing, the other a mass of melted flesh, as the terrible burning hurt ate away at him.

 

“Mmm,” he whimpered, eventually pushing himself up with great effort. Sending the goblin ahead of him out of the vault, he staggered through the doorway and into the nearly pitch black cavern beyond.

“Bloody buggering _fuck_ ,” he hissed, trying to flex his left hand. It was entirely numb, which he took as a bad sign. He limped on, tucking his newest soul shard into his pocket and fumbling for his trouser fastenings. “Terrible, _terrible_ idea,” he muttered, dropping the jeans to his knees and lighting his wand wand to examine the damage to his legs.

Harry could see that the pearlescent skin below his pants was charred black in a thick horizontal stripe, the flesh was a puckered angry red around it. _‘Fuck, got any fancy magic tricks to fix me up?’_ he asked his grim companion.

 

 _‘Oh yes, you’ll be good as new in just a moment…”_ Death cackled back. Harry frowned.

 

It was then that a low subvocal rumble met his ears. Hunched as he was, the raven froze, and slowly raised his head.

 

One emerald orb grew round, the whites showing all around. He held his breath and dared not move as a pair of enormous slitted pupils shone back in the darkness. Whatever gargantuan creature lurked opened its mouth, foot long fangs glistening in the wandlight.

 

 Harry swallowed with an audible _click_ and began to straighten with agonizing slowness.

The last thing he saw was a roiling cloud of blue and white flame charging toward him, and then everything went dark.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Caught by a dragon with your trousers down,” a rattling voice drawled. “How delightful. You ought to be keeping a list.”

 Harry sighed and found a comfortable position on his bench. Little Tommy rested peacefully against his chest. "What I would give just to be normal," he muttered wistfully.

 

"Never going to happen," Death replied slowly, drumming it's bony digits against the top of the wooden seat. "An eternity awaits you, filled with pain and loneliness. Only Death will always be with you."

A chill wracked the raven's form at the Trelawny-esque prediction. He tilted his head back to look up at his companion.

 

"I'm almost done with the task Dumbledore left me," he began softly, melancholy settling in. "Only one more left. But then I don't know what to  _do_..." He sighed again, flopping his head back down and staring unseeingly into the swirling mist.

"I'd like to think that he wouldn't want me to kill anyone. You know how he always went on about the power of love. But he was always always so bloody vague!" the young wizard continued bitterly, flapping a hand in punctuation before letting it fall limply to his side again.

"I can't get a read on Tom. It seems like he's not certifiably mad anymore, but he never was a good person, even as a kid, y'know? How do I show him that there are better ways?"

 

Death was silent for a long moment before the wraith chimed, "Love is a nasty business."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, nodding in whole-hearted agreement.

 

"Per usual, you've many options," the black-shrouded figure prompted. "And nothing much to lose."

"Well, a few things," Harry muttered, thinking of Ron and Hermione's support, the twin's underground resistance, the Order, still scrambling to get a foothold in the dark and bloody world they lived in. There were so many people still counting on him.

 

"Could always just haunt him like a fucking ghost," the raven snorted, "thwart all his dastardly plans."

"That's the right attitude!" Death chortled, wringing it's skeletal fingers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry sucked in a breath and tried not to spasm, lying as still as possible. Cracking an eye open, he squinted into the darkness. He could make out an enormous pale shape hunched over and facing away from him. The tapered tip of a long spiked tail rested only a few yards away from where he lay. A disturbing wet _crunching_ echoed in the vast underground cavern.

 

Activating his cloak, the raven sat up as quietly as possible. His fingers brushed something smooth and oddly warm; the cup. He grabbed it and pushed silently to his feet. He cast a wordless silencing spell on himself and crept back to the cart. Looking around, his goblin guide was nowhere to be found. There was no tether to his mind either. He glanced back at the dragon which was distractedly gnawing at something and blanched.

Tip-toeing away, Harry followed the cart tracks back the way they came and after a tense minute of controlled breathing and careful movements he entered the safety of a yawning black tunnel. He lit his wand and removed his cloak, holding the glowing point of light high above his head. The craggy passage was still, silent, and cold as death. The young wizard could see his breath fogging the air and belatedly noticed that his clothing consisted of only a pair of heavily melted trainers.

"Bollocks," he whispered, teeth beginning to chatter as he came down from his dragon-induced adrenaline high, poorly covering the delicate portion of his anatomy with the golden horcrux in his hand. "Kreacher?" he asked the empty air tentatively, barely audible.

 

The resulting sound was like a thunder strike in the confined stone space, and it echoed repetitively down the dark tunnel. Harry yelped and flung himself at the elf the moment he materialized. "Take us back, NOW!" A monstrous roar added to the cacophany from the open space behind them, and fine dust rained down from the ceiling.

With a sharp  _snap_ the terrible sound was suddenly cut off. The raven was compressed and sucked through a very tiny tube, and then all was quiet. Squinting one eye open, Harry groaned and slid bonelessly to the tile floor of Riddle Manor's kitchen.

"Oh shite," he panted, clutching at his heaving chest. A cold sweat settled into his skin and he began to shiver. "You're my hero, Kreacher."

 

The little elf stood over him, gnarled old hands on his hips, with a distinctly disapproving look on his wrinkly face. He looked down his dripping nose at the teen, lip curled. "Kreacher will just add chauffeur to his growing list of duties, right below babysitter and tailor, yes Master?" He _snapped_ his fingers again and a new stack of clothes appeared in Harry's lap. Turning on his heel, the house elf waddled over to his work station and didn't spare his charge another look.

Harry kicked off the black and lumpy excuses for shoes and scrambled up, setting the badger-etched goblet on the little breakfast table. He pulled on a new set of clothes nearly identical to the last, though this sweater was forest green with a snitch on the front.

 

"Hey Kreacher," he called out as he sat down on a chair and pulled on his socks. "Whatever happened to the sword?"

"Kreacher lost it."

"Well, can you find it again please?" he asked, doing up the laces on his fresh set of trainers.

The house elf _tsked_ and barely paused in his household task to _snap_ his fingers a third time. The bejeweled Sword of Gryffindor gleamed from the tabletop.

"Thanks, you're the best," Harry beamed. "Any chance of a snack while I'm here? Dying really takes it out of you, y'know?"

The crotchety old elf shot him a withering look but relented and floated a stack of pre-prepared ham and turkey sandwiches over to the young wizard. The raven did a wiggly jig of joy in his seat and proceeded to devour the offerings in a matter of seconds.

Standing up and wiping a hand carelessly over his mouth, Harry grabbed the knapsack from the corner that he had prepared that morning but ultimately decided to leave behind, stuffing the sword and cup inside. "Be back in a bit," he said as he headed for the back door again. Kreacher ignored him.

 

Harry was halfway down the winding gravel lane when an idea suddenly struck him like a thunderbolt.

“Hold on a tick,” he said, coming to an abrupt halt. _‘I've just had a thought.’_

_‘One of few. I would know.’_

_‘Hilarious,’_ he drawled with an audible huff. _‘The cloak was able to negate whatever effect that enchanted waterfall had in Gringotts,’_ he puzzled out slowly. _‘Which has nothing to do with invisibility, I'm guessing. Does that mean it is impervious to outside magic?’_

 _‘It is more a matter of ignoring magical parameters,’_ Death replied in its rattling voice.

 _‘Sooo…’_ Harry thought hard for a moment. _‘Does this mean I can pass through wards if I'm wearing it?’_ he said, excitement growing.

 _‘Perhaps you should apparate right here and find out,’_ came the snarky rejoinder.

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously at nothing. _‘This isn't some ploy to get some company for a few minutes, is it? I don't fancy my body parts strewn in little chunks between here and Scotland.’_

 _‘You won't know until you try, will you, Harry Potter?’_ the ghoulish voice goaded.

 

“Ugh,” the raven groaned and summoned his wand. Screwing up his face and his courage, he pictured a dank little cave strewn with tiny rat bones and turned on the spot.

 

The brisk highland air hit him and Harry pumped a fist into the air. “Yesss!” he hissed in victory. The cozy sprawling town of Hogsmeade was visible in the distance beyond a rocky ledge. Harry shot the darkened maw of the lonely little cave a fond, sad smile before he took off down the beaten earth trail. He walked for a few moments before pausing again, eyes growing wide.

 

 _‘If I can disapparate out of wards, then surely I can apparate_ into _warded areas, right?’_ he asked giddily. Death did not deign respond. Harry shrugged, closed his eyes, and disappeared again.

 

With an echoing _crack_ he materialized into impenetrable darkness. He poked the Elder Wand through the seam on his cloak and muttered, “Lumos.” Grinning like a fool, the young wizard scurried forward up the sloping incline, extinguished his wand, and tapped the curious stone slab before him. “Dissendium.”

Harry stuck his invisible head out from behind the one-eyed humpback witch statue and peered both ways down the third floor corridor of Hogwarts. It was empty and quiet. Afternoon classes must have still been in session.

He emerged from the portal and shut it as quietly as possible. Renewing his silencing spell, the raven wizard strode down the hallway, looking about wistfully. Oh how he missed his one true home in the world. Oddly enough, he felt detached from it now, like an outsider looking in. His melancholy thoughts whispered to him that he might never fit in anywhere again. He'd been changed too much, more fey creature of legend than man anymore.

 

After climbing several flights of shifting stairs, he drew near the tapestry of trolls doing ballet and shook the gloomy ponderings away, focusing on Death’s directions. Pacing back and forth three times, he recalled the Prince’s book.

A door materialized in a stretch of blank stone wall opposite Barnabas the Barmy, and Harry wasted no time in entering the Room of Hidden Things. Though he had visited once before, the vast space piled with random objects as far as the eye could see was still astonishing. _‘What is it exactly that I'm looking for?’_

 _‘I'll give you a hint. You laid hands on it when you were here before,’_ came the cryptic reply.

 

“Hmm,” the young wizard hummed, wracking his brain. He glimpsed a familiar wooden cabinet around the corner of a nearby pile of junk and wandered over. The vanishing cabinet stood before him, entirely unremarkable, and he eyed it warily.

He mentally ran through his memory of hiding the potions text during the previous year as he stared at the blasted cupboard. He'd been in such a panic before, all of the details were fuzzy.

 

Clearing his mind, Harry closed his eyes.

 

There, like a skin deep itch…

 

Emerald eyes blinked open and he took a few steps off to the right, peering over the contents of a nearby table. Questing fingers hung in the air for a moment before quick as lightning his hand shot forward and snatched a glittering object off of an old bust wearing a wig.

It was a tiara. Jewels in the shape of a raven shone like twinkling stars in his palm.

Harry looked it over with awe before bursting out in gleeful laughter. “Like taking candy from a baby,” he cackled smugly.

 

“Okay then,” he said, looking about. He walked to a clear section of floor and took the cup out of his bag, followed by the sword. It was as good a time as any.

Placing the golden chalice on the floor, he balanced the tiara face down across the rim and straightened up. Raising the blade in two hands at face level, Harry took a steadying breath and thrust down with all his might.

The blade pierced true, slicing through both objects with relative ease and embedding into the floor below. For a moment nothing happened, and Harry attempted to pull the sword from the stone. It didn't budge. “Oops,” he muttered.

 

Suddenly an ear-splittingly shrill shriek emanated from the horcruxes pinned to the ground. They began to rattle and shake, the sword vibrating in place above. Harry sprung away and clapped his hands over his ears with a cringe.

When the ground began to quake ominously around him he staggered back a step, stomach dropping. A thick black smoke began to rise from the punctured metal, winding through the air with sentient tendrils. They reached toward the wizard as he stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet. As the inky vapor came in contact with his flesh it recoiled violently, and for a moment everything was still. Harry held his breath and called the Death Stick to his aid.

 

In a blinding blast of searing heat Harry was thrown backwards, landing harshly on his back a few meters away. Breath knocked out of his lungs and ears ringing, the raven watched as roiling green flame collided against the ceiling like a mushroom cloud. It arced and coiled, condensing into a shape he could scarcely make out as he raised his arm to shield his face. The very air boiled around Harry as a monstrous viper opened its fiery jaws and crashed down on him with a deafening _BOOM!_

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Tell me, Harry Potter, if you were a phoenix, what would today be called?.”

 

“Oho!” he scoffed, slinging an arm over the back of the bench. “Death’s got jokes,” he drawled dryly.

 Death gave a rattling chuckle and wandered away, blackened aura trailing behind it like a demonic shadow.

 

"Welp, that's the last one," Harry chirped. His palm landed on his mutant babe's scarlet back, and he looked down at it. "Well, except for this little guy." He rubbed it gently, wistfully, almost sad to leave his little friend behind. "Guess I'll have to let you go, bud," he whispered regretfully. Little Tommy slept on peacefully against his chest, breathing easier than he ever had.

"There is nothing that you  _have_ to do, Harry Potter," Death said, back to the wizard.

"What do you mean? I can't keep him; it's not a stray dog," Harry said, brows pinching together.

When Death merely shrugged it's bony shoulders and offered no further reply, the raven looked back down at his grotesque little sidekick, mind whirring in new directions.

 

"Or..." He said slowly, a new idea coming together. The wraith's cowled head turned toward him slightly. "I could hang on to him for now. Merlin knows I've got nothing to barter with. Perhaps I could just dangle him over Tom's head a bit? See if he takes the bait?" The corner of his mouth curved up in a devious smirk.

"I like where this is going..." Death said with a slight bow of the head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Bleeeergh.” Harry’s cheeks puffed out with the exasperated noise that escaped him in a huff.

For not the first time that day, he found himself lying spread eagle on the floor amid smoking rubble. Completely in the buff, again.

White ash fluttered through the air like snow, creating a fine layer of contrast against the scorched flagstone. Flopping his head to the side, emerald eyes surveyed the still burning wreckage that had recently been centuries of Hogwarts history and refuse.

 

He drew himself into a sitting position, eyes coming to rest on the remains of the Founder’s trio. Blackened twisted metal formed a small pyre at the center of the blast radius, a tar-like substance leaking from the misshapen mound to pool on the floor around it. The sword and horcruxes were no more. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and hauled himself off the floor.

Dawning his invisibility cloak, both to hide his nudity and in preparation for apparition, Harry paused. There was a muffled noise beyond the door. The raven crept forward and pressed his ear to the wood.

 

He could make out voices, faint but one in particular distinct, rapidly moving down the corridor toward the Room.

 

“I _know_ it came from the hideout! Hurry!”

 

“Ginny,” Harry breathed, face splitting wide with a crooked smile. Heart pounding with joy, he pulled open the door and stepped into the hall, the portal vanishing behind him as the door swung shut.

Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom were rushing forward, panic on their faces and wands drawn. They skidded to a halt as the door to the Room of Requirement opened and closed of its own voalition.

Harry took a step toward them and, remembering his disillusionment, opened his mouth the speak.

 

“How did I know it would be you lot causing mayhem again?” a wheezy giggle echoed through the open corridor. All three of the Gryffindors' heads snapped up at the sound. Ginny whirled around and backed toward Neville, wand clutched in white knuckled fingers.

Two squat figures loped toward the group. They were nearly identical in appearance with their stubby stature, shorn hair, and pallid piggish features. One was obviously male while the others was questionably female.

 

“Professors Carrow,” Neville greeted cautiously, stepping forward to shield his friend. There was a shrewd gleam in his eye and his voice was deeper than Harry remembered. “We were nearby when we heard the noise and came to invest--”

 

“Oh, how we'll have fun punishing you two! Blood-traitor delinquents just don't know how to stay out of trouble, hmm?” the smaller of the pair, who Harry now placed as Alecto Carrow, cackled obscenely. She twirled her wand in her fingers warningly, a shark-like grin spreading across her squashed face.

 

“It wasn’t us--” Ginny protested, but was cut short.

“Quiet, you stupid girl,” Amycus snarled, pointing his wand at the pair of teens.

 

“Writing on the walls, blowing up the castle,” Alecto crooned lowly in her crackling voice, reminiscent of Bellatrix but revolting moreso than frightening. Her mean beady eyes were fixated on Ginny with a sort of disturbed hunger. “We’ll enjoy our detentions together, won’t we? Every night for the next month, I think” She took a threatening step toward the cornered students.

Neville raised his hand in placation, the other clenching his wand behind his back. “Professors,” he began diplomatically, trying to suppress the alarm growing on his face.

 

Fast as a whip the Carrow sister’s wand stabbed toward Neville, and Harry watched her thin lips form syllables that made his blood instantly boil.

 

“Cru--”

 

“Expelliarmus!” Harry snarled, reacting to the threat to his friends without thought or plan.

 

Alecto was thrown back as though from a mighty blow. Her body smashed again the stone wall with a nasty _crunch_ and she screamed out with an ear-piercing pitch. Her wand shot like an arrow toward Harry. He ducked and it smacked against the opposite wall before bouncing and rolling across the floor.

Three heads whipped toward the place where Harry was standing, two allies and one Death Eater. Alecto slid down to the floor with a moan, a trickle of blood seeping from her hairline. Time seemed to slow as the raven’s pulse ratcheted.

Every person in the hall could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. It was no surprise that Ginny’s shocked whisper reached every set of ears. “Harry…?”

Eyes wide and lips parted, she immediately sucked in a gasp and clapped a shaking hand over her mouth. Neville’s jaw dropped and Amycus’s wand whirled toward Harry’s general location. “Stupif--”

 

“Expelliarmus.”

 

The horribly familiar honey-smooth drawl caught everyone by surprise. The Death Stick bucked in Harry’s grip but he held on for dear life. Four other wands soared in a high arc and came to halt, hanging suspended in the air before a tall man in austere black robes. Long deft fingers plucked them from the air and tucked them away into a pocket hidden within the folds of a dark cloak.

Penetrating bottomless black eyes flickered in Harry’s direction, barely a glance, before surveying the rest of the scene with bored sneer. “What exactly,” Snape began in that deadly quiet tone that made the hair on the back of the raven’s neck stand on end, “is going on here?

 

“It's Potter, he’s here, he's blowing up the castle!” Alecto howled, stumbling up from the ground. Amycus nodded hurriedly, head jerking about if as to locate the intruder.

 

“Headmaster,” Neville said shakily, taking a step forward. “Th-this is all a misunderstanding,” he pleaded, stuttering slightly. His eyes flickered toward Harry and then back to Snape, wetting dry lips. “Professor Carrow cast the Cruciatus and I reacted badly, that’s all, please punish me and not Ginny, she didn’t do anyth--”

 

“He’s lying!” Alecto screeched, spittle flying. “He’s here, I know it, you must call _Him_ now--”

“That is _enough_ ,” Snape spat, striding forward, “ _all_ of you. What nonsense is this?” He shot the Carrows a blood-curdling sneer.

“Give us our wands, Snape,” Amycus growled, thrusting out a demanding hand. Alecto shouted at the same time, face purple and eyes bulging apoptolectically, “He has the power of invisibility, you must let me call Him, we will be rewarded beyond our wildest dreams!”

“SILENCE!” Snape roared, face a rictus of fury. With a slash of his wand the Carrows were muted, stubby fingers scrabbling at their throats. Those calculating beetle-like eyes turned to Ginny, who was staring blankly at the spot Harry’s voice had originated from. “What tripe are you two fools concocting? I would think--”

 

“Matters of my own house shall be dealt with in _my house_!” a matronly brogue rang out next. Minerva McGonnagal ran down the hallway towards the commotion, tartan robes bunched in one hand and wand at the ready in the other. “There will be no more prejudice and torture against _my_ students,” the older woman snapped, a fire dancing behind her spectacles.

 

Harry gulped and backed away. This was getting complicated. As much as he wanted to strike Snape down on the spot (the Death Stick seemed to hum against his clammy palm at the thought), he was bewildered. Dumbledore’s murderer had obviously came to the same conclusion as the others. Why was he pretending not to know Harry was there?

The two opposing authorities shouted at one other as Neville and Ginny shrank back. Though he desperately wanted to go to his friends, Harry instead used the distraction to slip away. He scurried on soundless bare feet down one corridor, then another. There was no one around to hear him when he finally disapparated.

 

 

“Whew!” Harry blew out a breath, cancelling his invisibility. “That was close.”

Kreacher popped into the kitchen and sneered at his once again bare form. With a snap of his fingers Harry’s third set of clothes for the day appeared on the table.

“Thanks. You alright?” the raven asked, shaking out a fresh pair of jeans. The house elf grunted and tottered off to the island. The creature’s normally saggy skin seemed to hang off of his bony form, his shoulders and large furry ears drooping. “Tom hasn’t done anything, has he?” Harry asked with concern.

 

“The prisoner woke up about an hour ago and stuffed two servings of Kreacher's _real_ breakfast down it's gullet. Kreacher hears it pacing about, making lights,” the elf grumbled sullenly as he snapped his fingers again and set a bunch carrots and celery to dicing itself.

“Lights?” Harry asked with a frown, bending down to pull the denim up his legs.

“Kreacher feels the magical lights it makes in its grubby little hands, some big and some small, but the prisoner doesn't try to leave it's room, no, Kreacher will not let it...”

 

Harry froze, fingers on the zipper of his fly. His neck popped as he snapped his head toward the elf.

“Wait, are you telling me that he is up there doing wandless--”

 

 

_BOOM!_

 

 

Harry staggered and gripped the table for support as the whole house shook with an unknown force emanating from the upstairs. Chips of paint cracked from the ceiling and feel down around them. “Shite,” Harry cursed and tore out of the kitchen without a second thought.

 

Sprinting up the stairs, the raven skidded to a halt. Through the haze of dust in the air he could see the state of the hallway. It was blocked with chunks of stone debris, some the size of boulders, originating from a large gaping hole to the left toward the end of the hall. All was quiet now.

Harry swallowed thickly and held the Elder wand before him. He vaulted over a large chunk of stone, landing with a hissed inhale and a quiet crunch on his still bare feet. Pressing his back to the blackened and gritty stone wall, Harry edged forward. Taking a bracing breath, he leapt around the corner and into the hole next to the master suite door.

The room was empty save for more rubble strewn about the floor. Harry stealthily peeked into the closet and the bathroom, but there was no one. Holding his wand flat in his palm, he whispered, "Hominum Revalio." The tip of the length of elder lit a ghostly blue and spun unerringly to the right.

 

The raven wizard crept back the way he came, bypassing the stairs and stalking down the left wing. As he proceeded an soft sound reached his ears.

_Scritch scritch scritch_

If he wasn't mistaken, it was the sound of a quill scratching against parchment. He came to a halt in front of the study, the first room of the manor that he'd ever seen. Pausing with his hand poised above the doorknob, Harry ventured a nervous call. "Tom...?"

"It's open," a deep voice responded from the other side of the wooden pane. Swallowing again, Harry screwed up his courage and pushed the door open, slipping inside wand-first.

 

Tom Riddle reclined at the sturdy wooden desk, legs propped up and ankles crossed, a length of parchment braced with a book against his knee and quill scribbling away furiously. He did not look up when Harry entered, but the raven didn't let that deter him. Wand trained steadily on his foe, he demanded, "What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter," the man drawled, unconcerned with the infamous wand pointed at his person. "Several, actually."

"No, you're not," Harry replied, mouth set in a grim line. "Not without my approval, you're not."

 

Tom breathed a laugh, shaking his head minutely, still absorbed in his writing. "Come now, _Harry._ " A score of tiny hairs stood erect on the back of the raven's neck. "We both know that you can't actually keep me prisoner. Besides, don't you think that my servants will start to get suspicious, perhaps even drop by to find out where I've gone, if I simply drop off of the face of the earth? That simply wouldn't do."

Harry's wand arm drooped as he mulled over the other man's words. It was true; the last thing he needed was Bellatrix or Lucius Malfoy or, well, any of them really, snooping around. "And what exactly do you plan to tell them?" he snapped, crossing his arms defensively. He pointed the end of his wand at the fireplace and ignited the freshly lain logs in order to fight off the chill.

 

"Bullshit" Tom said with a careless wave of his hand, and Harry's eyes bulges slightly in their sockets. "For the most part, anyways. The Death Eaters that witnessed your demise at Malfoy Manor have been instructed to remain silent but most of my forces are still moving to recover undesirables and overtake the ministry, as you well know. I'll keep them in a holding pattern for now until I have all of the details laid for a new plan."

Harry just goggled at the other man. He had no idea how to even talk to the Dark Lord, much less know what to actually say. Tom appeared to read over what he'd written, and then continued on as though there had never been a pause.

"This mass genocide business is a mess. My priorities have changed with the return of my mind, but more importantly there are so many _absurd_ mistakes to correct..." he trailed off with a sigh, rolling up the finished letter and reaching for another parchment.

Long dark lashes finally rose from his task, and the black gaze like a physical presence flashed with some unnamed emotion. The man's hand paused in midair for a moment before he changed tact and leaned back in his chair instead, softly setting his quill down. Crimson eyes devoured Harry from beneath heavy lids.

 

A shot of adrenaline lanced through Harry's body, suddenly feeling like cornered prey. He was too hot, beginning to sweat. It struck him all of a sudden that he was standing before the Dark Lord in only a pair of denim jeans. They weren't even buttoned.

He staggered back a step, wand snapping up again. The shadow of a dimple on Tom's cheek deepened.

The two enemies stared at one another in a thick silent tension, each waiting for the other to make the first move. A wet salty track rolled down Harry's spine and he felt strangely vulnerable and self-conscious. There was a bad feeling brewing in his gut about the whole situation.

 

Tom broke the stalemate by rising abruptly, the clawfoot chair legs scraping back against the floor. He rounded the desk slowly and smoothly, hands tucking casually into his own denim pockets. Cocking his head to the side in a disconcerting gesture of speculation, the man spoke lowly as he prowled unhurriedly forward. "Where is my wand, Harry? I'd very much like to have it back."

Harry took a step back from the other man. Despite the cold fear licking up his spine he mustered the courage to shoot Tom a skeptical look. "Oh sure, let me get right on that." He took another step back as Voldemort took another forward and wetted his parched lips. "Fat chance in hell, really."

Those sinful pink lips smirked. "Come now, _Harr_ \--"

The baritone voice died as the black ring on Harry's chest flared gold. Crimson eyes widened slightly and flickered to the raven's closed fist.

 

With the thought of a gleaming chalice fixed in his mind and a deft flick of his wrist, the Resurrection Stone skittered across Harry's fingers. The other wizard lunged forward at the same moment, reaching out toward the raven with a deadly fast hand.

Harry pressed his back against the wall and prepared for the worst, but the punishing grip never came. Tom staggered and dropped to his hands and knees like a ton of bricks a hair's breadth away.

 

"Kkk," the man choked, head down and back bowing out. Large hands balled into fists as Harry watched the back of Tom's neck turn purple, veins and tendons bulging alarmingly. He spasmed for a few moments while Harry's heart thundered against his ribcage.

"Raaah," the Dark Lord roared through clenched teeth, and one of those massive fists struck the ground with enough force to send a spiderweb of cracks through the stone.

After another few moments the muscles of Tom's back seemed to unclench and he panted there on the floor. Wide-eyed, Harry started to edge away from him, but in a blur of motion a vice clamped around his wrist and hauled him off of his feet with a shout of alarm. "Argh!"

 

Harry's shoulder collided with the unforgiving ground before he was flipped onto his back. "Ah!" he gasped as the bruising grasp forced his wand-hand above his head and strong calves pinned his thighs to the floor. The indomitable mass of the other man beared down on him, smothering. Another hand reached for Harry's other wrist but in his adrenaline fueled-panic the smaller wizard was able to wriggle his arm free of the grapple. The flung his left hand out and away.

The little black stone left his fingers, skipping across the floor once, twice, three times. Harry was able to haul the imagine of the raven-emblemed tiara into his mind for only a brief second before a crushing grip ensnared his empty hand and wrenched it upward, trapped with the other. "Krea--" he tried to scream, but a burning palm smacked roughly over his mouth. He could hear nothing but the pounding of his rapid pulse against his eardrums.

 

Tom threw his head back, eyes rolling back to show only white. He braced himself over the smaller man below him, pressing him ruthlessly into the floor. Harry watched with wide horrified eyes as the man on top of him growled, fingers twitching and digging into his cheeks, causing the bones of his wrists to grind painfully together.

Only seconds later the man's marble-like musculature sagged and his head slowly swung down, face inches from Harry's own. An unholy flame like blood danced in the pits of those hellish scarlet orbs, and his tanned skin seemed to positively glow with vitality. The whimper Harry involuntarily let out scarcely escaped Tom's palm.

 

Strong fingers caressed Harry's own above his head, entwining without compromising the agonizingly tight grip. With the Elder Wand pressed between their laced fingers, the Dark Lord intoned, "Incarcerous." Smooth cords like snakes wound their way around Harry's wrists and ankles, clinching too tight.

The raven let out a muffled "Mmmff!" of protest and tried to shake his head, but the other man tightened the grip on his jaw and crushed his skull into the stone floor. Harry's wide eyes began to water with pain.

 

"That wasn't very nice," Tom rumbled softly, breath warm against his cheek, and Harry could feel the vibration of that rolling bass in his chest. The man's lips parted again to speak, but the raven never did get to hear what he had planned to say.

 

_Crack!_

 

Tom's massive form collapsed on top of Harry's, knocking the breath from his lungs with a grunted "Oof!" The other man's hand was wrenched off the raven's mouth and bound to his side as another set of thick black cords sprung out of nowhere, wrapping him up like a mummy. Harry sucked in a ragged breath and gasped, "Relashio!" His own bindings melted away and he shoved at the dead weight crushing him into the dust. Through a combination of pushing and wriggling, the younger wizard managed to escape by rolling the other man off of him. He pivoted smoothly, swinging one leg over Tom's waist and jamming the Death Stick into a muscular throat.

 

"What the  _fuck_ is wrong with you?" he snarled down at Voldemort, eyes flashing as dangerously as the Killing Curse they so closely resembled.

"I'm going to kill your elf one of these days," Tom deadpanned in return. There was a growl from somewhere off to the right, but Harry ignored Kreacher for the moment.

"I am trying to give you a fair chance, Tom,  _more_ than fair, but you're not inspiring very much confidence in me," Harry gritted out, digging the wand a little further into the man's tender flesh. "What don't you get about this situation? I've got you in check! I've hunted down and destroyed every last slimy piece of your wretched--"

 

As the raven shifted back he froze, mouth still open but no sound coming out, shock striking him completely dumb. It was unmistakable, the hard hot length pressing against his arse.

Tom's eyebrows rose slightly, dark eyes glancing down between their bodies. "Huh," the other man grunted, sounding more curious than surprised. "Would you look at that..."

 

Harry was up and on the other side of the room faster than the other man could blink. "AAARGH!" he bellowed, clamping one arm awkwardly over his bare chest. " _What the fuck is wrong with you?!"_  His eyes were likely popping out of his skull again, but Harry couldn't even process it. His whole brain felt completely short-circuited. Lord Voldemort's penis had touched him. 

"I'll admit, it has been a few decades since I've had that problem," Tom drawled, lounging on the floor, looking entirely at ease. The bulge in his trousers was readily apparent. Harry slapped a hand over his eyes and reeled backwards. "I'm still getting reacquainted with being human again, after all."

 

"Kreacher is just leaving lunch here while Master and Master's prisoner play their filthy games, yes?" the house elf croaked nastily and disappeared without waiting for an answer. A heavily laden lunch tray appeared on the desk with a _pop_.

 

"What the fuck," Harry mouthed again wordlessly, utterly floored.

A devilish curl grew on the corner of Tom's mouth, white teeth peeking through his lips and eyes sparking rakishly. "Oh, I see--"

 

Both men paused abruptly, gazes going unfocused. There was ringing in the back of Harry's mind, distracting him from the matter at hand.

 

 

 

The ward alarms.

 

 

 

There was an intruder on the grounds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Get What I Want When I Want Cause This Hunger is Drivin' Me, Yeah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features the first of the much anticipated smut. Finally, I know.
> 
> Let me remind everyone that the tags and warnings up at the top are there for a reason. The scene below is explicit rape, no way around it. Yes, it may be funny and sexy, but a rose by any other name and all that. If this bothers you, I apologize that you are unable to finish this fic. I hope that I'll be able to retain the bulk of my readers, but I understand that hard non-con is not everyone's cup of tea. I won't hammer it home any more than this, I just wanted to be clear before moving forward.
> 
> Don't forget, your kudos and feedback keep unpaid authors inspired and writing!

  _Lonely nights I laid awake, pray the Lord my soul to take,_

_My heart's become to cold to break._

_All my life I've been told to wait but I'ma get it now it's no debate._

_I don't need no hand to hold cause even when the night is cold_

_I got that fire in my soul._

"Me, Myself & I" G-Eazy & Bebe Rexha

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was an echoing  _crack_ as Kreacher reentered the room.

"Kreacher does not want to witness Master playing nasty games with his prisoner, no, but Kreacher is to be informing Master that Headmaster Snape is visiting," the house elf grumbled, scrawny arms crossed and staring fixedly at the ceiling.

 

"Shite," Harry muttered for the umpteenth time that morning and pointed the Wand of Destiny at the Dark Lord. "Silenco," he chanted, and then jabbed a finger at the man bound up on the floor. "Stay," he commanded before edging around the prone form and sprinting out of the study.

 

He activated his power of invisibility, the triangular tattoo upon his chest flaring gold, and paused at the top of the stairs. His ears strained but heard nothing, so the raven proceeded to creep silently down to the main floor, wand held in the defensive position.

On the third from the bottom step, a sharp rapping sounded at the front entrance. He waited with bated breath, hoping the intruder would see fit to leave. No such luck.

After a moment one of the large double doors  _creaked_ open, and the head and shoulders of a familiar man followed a slim black wand inside. "My Lord?" Severus Snape called out, keen eyes darting about the dim foyer. The man edged slowly inside and closed the door without a sound.

 

Little droplets of perspiration began to rise at Harry's temples as he gripped his wand and ran through possible plans in his mind. The traitorous man was unlikely to leave now that he'd let himself in, and Harry couldn't allow him to start snooping about. The fewer people that knew what he was doing the better.

He could always just stun his old Potions professor using the element of surprise, but then what? He blanched at the thought of attempting to hold both Voldemort and one of his most powerful right-hand men hostage at the same time. That'd be a no go.

And as much as he'd like to violently avenge Dumbledore's death, it was impossible to consider such an option seriously. The fact remained that the Chosen One was simply not a killer.

The choice was ultimately taken from him. As Harry stood mulling over his options, he shifted nervously and the stair step below his feet let out a soft  _squeak_.

 

"Petrificus Totalus!"

 

Muscles locking stiff as a board, Harry felt great alarm as his body began tipping sideways. He managed a muffled "Mmm!" of protest through clamped lips before his immobilized form thudded to the ground and rolled down the remaining two steps. The elbow of his right arm crunched painfully beneath his own body weight before he came to rest flat on his back on the marble tile.

Snape was on top of him in a heartbeat, ripping the cloak away. There was an acute tearing sound, Harry's torso lifting from the ground a few centimeters with the force of it, before the shimmering fabric dissolved to leave the other man's fist empty. The Slytherin didn't bat an eye, stabbing the tip of his wand into Harry's sternum before twisting it cruelly.

 

"What the  _bloody fuck_ do you think you're doing, you stupid,  _stupid_ boy?" Snape snarled in a half-whisper through a curtain of lank black hair. The man's hawk-like visage lifted, eyes darting about apprehensively.

"Mmf," Harry grunted again, confusion warring with the hatred roiling in his gut.

Snape clapped a potion-stained hand over Harry's mouth and hissed venemously, "Shut up!" The raven's brows drew down into a fierce glower.

"I know you have a death wish, you foolish child, but the depths of your idiocy are  _truly_ astonishing. Allow me to rescue your worthless hide once again. We are leaving," Snape growled under his breath. Harry's eyebrows rose.

The dour man stood swiftly and gave his wand a flick, saying, "Levi--

 

"Let him up, Severus."

 

The rolling baritone caused Snape to freeze, head whipping up so fast Harry heard the man's neck _crack_. Harry rolled his eyes as far to the right as he could, tension building in him like a pending implosion. This was bad.

Tom strode leisurely down the grand staircase like an modern deity. His bare feet slapped softly with each swaggering step and his hand were tucked casually into the pockets of those blasted Muggle jeans. He was still wearing that  _goddamn_ _pink shirt_ , rolled up over his muscular forearms and showing the tawny flesh of his collarbones through the gap of half done up buttons. Dark silky locks hung too long over broad shoulders and stubble gave way to a roguish scruff across the man's sharp jaw line. He surveyed the pair before him from under lazily hooded eyes, the dark depths burning with inherent intensity.

 

"Who--" Snape began, lip curling back and wandpoint focused unerringly on the newcomer.

 

  _Crack!_

 

"Kreacher tried to keep the prisoner from leaving, Kreacher did, but the vile thing is sneaky like a little cockroach, yes, slipping free," the house elf croaked from the top of the stairs, bulbous eyes fixed on Tom's back and full of vinegar. "Kreacher has a big heavy pan in the kitchen, Kreacher does, if Master will let Kreacher smash it..."

The Dark Lord waved a dismissive hand in the savage old elf's direction as though batting away an annoying gnat and commanded, "Come, we've much to discuss, Severus. Bring Harry with you." And with that he turned on his heel and sauntered back up to the second floor. Kreacher bared his snaggly pointed teeth at the man as he passed but was ignored entirely.

 

Snape stood motionless for so long that Harry wondered if he'd been petrified as well. The long smooth length of blackthorn twitched and the man muttered, "Finite Incantatem."

Harry sat up and chaffed his sore elbow. He peered up through his bangs at his former professor. Snape didn't look so hot at that particular moment. All of the color had drained from his sallow face and his bloodless lips were turned down in a rather nauseous-looking grimace.

"That was..." The potions master's voice wavered, weaker than Harry had ever heard it.

"Yep," the raven chirped with vindictive pleasure, hauling himself off the ground and up the stairs.

 

After a few steps Snape's iron grip clamped around his bicep.

"What the hell is going on here, Potter? What part about your impending murder don't you understand?" Snape whispered harshly, fingers digging in. "Run, you imbecile! I'll hold him off as long as I can." The man glanced back up the steps and Harry saw his Adam's apple bob.

The younger wizard wrenched his arm free and took a step back, irritation mounting quickly. "Look, I don't know what you're playing at, Snape, but I think you have much more to worry about than I do. Mixed messages much?" Harry taunted meanly, emerald eyes ablaze.

 He mounted the marble steps, Snape stomping furiously after him. "You will answer me, Potter!" the man demanded fiercely. "What is wrong with you, with  _Him?_ "

"I'm curious to see how Tom will explain that one myself," the raven grumbled. The other wizard froze at that, but Harry kept walking, stepping onto the landing and turning down the left wing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Snape mouth the word 'Tom' with a sort of disturbed shock marring his features.

 

Kreacher shuffled behind the little group as Harry poked his head cautiously into the study. It was empty, fire still crackling merrily in the grate. Harry frowned and looked both ways down the hall. Kreacher piped up tiredly, pointing to the next door over, "It's there." With a belated  _snap_ he also handed Harry a new t-shirt.

"Thanks," Harry muttered distractedly, shrugging on the shirt and staring at the new door in trepidation. Snape held his wand in a white-knuckled grip, eyes also fixed where the little elf had indicated. Grasping the handle with a sweaty palm, the raven wizard pushed the door open.

 

The room beyond was eerily familiar. Packed bookshelves covered the left wall, tomes dusty and moldering. There was an antique armchair in the center of the room, positioned to face a dark fireplace. A couch lined the wall to the left of the armchair and a set of padded wooden chairs sat off to the right, a moth-eaten rug and a coffee table taking up the center of the little sitting area. The Dark Lord was lounging sideways on the sofa, one leg up and bent, his arm resting along the upholstered back.

Kreacher waddled forward when Harry and Snape stood awkwardly in the doorway for too long. The house elf shot Tom a nasty look, ears down and back like the wings of a jet plane. A robust fire bloomed to life in the grate before Kreacher tottered back over to Harry.

"What else does Kreacher's Master need?" he croaked, one bloodshot orb squinting up at the raven.

"Err," Harry eloquently replied.

"Lunch for three sounds lovely," Tom drawled, staring over his shoulder into the fireplace. The flames reflected on those glassy orbs gave the raven a sudden chill.

Kreacher audibly ground his teeth, ears still pressed flat against the back of his head.

Harry's stomach rumbled at the suggestion. He hadn't eaten since he'd last died. "Yeah, lunch is good, I guess." The elf disappeared without further comment.

"Sit," Tom said with a magnanimous wave of his hand.

Harry shot the wizard a scathing look and wandered over to one of the opposite chairs, flopping down gracelessly. Snape stood paralyzed for another moment before slowly following suite, spine ramrod straight.

 

"Well this is awkward," Harry stated the obvious after a moment where no one spoke. Tom appeared to be waiting contently for food and Snape seemed at a loss, perched on the edge of his seat and wand still clenched in a death grip.

The longest minute of Harry's life passed before a tray appeared on the coffee table with a soft  _pop._ Lord Voldemort immediately busied himself with piling sandwiches onto a plate, stacked high enough that they teetered precariously. Harry leaned forward and snagged one with his fingers once the other man had finished, immediately retreating to the safety of his chair and folding his legs up underneath him.

As the two other wizards began inhaling their lunch, Harry quickly snatching another helping, Snape seemed to be steadfastly avoiding fidgeting by grinding his teeth. When it became too much for him, the Potions master opened his mouth to speak, eyes flickering over his former student briefly before fixating once again on his master. "My Lord--"

Tom, swallowing roughly around an enormous bite of ham, lettuce, and mayo, held up a finger. As though bound by magic, Snape was instantly paralyzed again. Harry snickered and then choked, inhaling crumbs. Such was the Headmaster's discomfiture that he didn't even acknowledge the raven's unsavory behavior.

Tom eventually set his empty plate back on the table and fixed himself tea. Snape's eye seemed to twitch at the amount of sugar that found its way into the cup. Settling back onto the sofa with his legs propped up and ankles crossed before him, the Dark Lord's gaze finally fell to his servant.

 

"Tell me, Severus," the man intoned, face an unreadable apathetic mask. "What brings you here today?"

Harry watched in fascination as Snape's throat bobbed again, composure cracked but still in place.

"Several matters, My Lord. One of them is sitting in this room," Snape said through clenched teeth, shooting a brief murderous side-eye at the young raven wizard.

"Go on," Tom said, raising his steaming cup and taking a sip.

Snape stared openly at Voldemort for a few seconds before seeming to rally himself. "There was a disturbance at Hogwarts this afternoon. An explosion destroyed a historic portion of the Room of Requirement before Potter was reported to have attacked the Professors Carrow in a populated corridor with the aid of his Invisibility Cloak." Harry snorted as he fixed his own cup of tea. "In the confusion we were unable to apprehend the fugitive, though I now see why."

"Indeed," the Dark Lord drawled in reply. There was a pause where Snape seemed uncharacteristically tongue-tied. "And the other matters?"

Snape took a bracing breath "My Lord, I am not certain the boy should be present for this conver--"

"He stays," Tom interrupted, voice quiet but heavy with commanding presence. There was a flash of crimson in his gaze, and Snape visibly flinched before he could catch himself.

 

"Of course," the Potions master said, bowing his head deferentially. "There has been some discord among your Lordship's ranks over the past day. I received a handful of unwelcome owls this morning, thankfully not over breakfast in front of the entire school. Nonsensical enquiries from Lucius and Bellatrix, as though I would divulge anything... Bellatrix in particular has been stirring the pot, something about her vault."

Tom's gaze flickered over Harry for a moment and the raven endeavored to look as innocent as possible. He wasn't sure whether or not he succeeded.

"I'm sure," Tom drawled again, appearing to the casual eye to be relaxed and bored. "What else?"

There was a barely noticeable hitch in Snape's chest as the man took another fortifying breath. "That is all I have to report, My Lord."

 

"Mmm," Tom hummed noncommittally, tapping his blunted fingernails on the side of his porcelain cup. Harry could see a faint sheen of sweat break out over Snape's enormous nose and brow as the silence stretched out. When the Dark Lord spoke again Snape's complexion grew even paler, if such a thing was possible. "It is astonishing, if you think about it, that only our poor, dear Bella was correct in her assumptions of your loyalty."

"My Lord, I assure you--"

 

Snape's teeth shut with a  _clack_ as his head jerked back. One hand flailed out and grasped the edge of a side table, knuckles white. Harry watched with wide eyes as the two opposing forces held direct sustained eye contact for a long moment.

Tom slid forward so that his feet touched the ground and braced his elbows on his knees. One corner of his lips curled up as he coaxed with faux tenderness, "Come now, Severus, you reek of blatant lies. Stop fighting and just give it up to me."

A thin trickle of blood seeped from Snape's flared nostrils. Harry could tell the exact moment the Potions master's mental shields crumbled; his pupils blew wide and his body sagged into the chair, panting with shallow breaths.

 

Tom presumably rummaged around in Snape's brain for another minute or two before withdrawing. The man leaned back again and crossed one leg over the other, taking another sip of tea. "As I thought," Tom remarked without concern. 

 

Snape looked dazed and wrecked. Harry was fairly certain that if the man hadn't already been seated, he would be spread eagle on the floor right about then. The raven couldn't help the smug little trill that flashed through him at the thought that the table's had been turned.

"My Lord," Snape wheezed, deep lines of pain written across his face. Harry didn't envy the man the headache he must have. "Please, let me exp--"

"No need, Severus, I understand," Tom cut in with a deadly softness, turning his head to look contentedly out of the window behind him.

Snape was sweating bullets now. Harry, concerned though he was with where all of this was leading, watched with a sadistic sort of pleasure. Served the slimy git right to be the one in the hot seat for once. The shaken man managed straighten up, shaking his head once and blinking rapidly. There was a fine tremor wracking Snape's form but his wand arm was perfectly still, muscles tensed and ready.

 

"You see, my friend," Tom began abruptly, voice a low rumbling purr. He glanced back to the Potion's master, gaze smoldering . "I am not nearly so blind as I once was, thanks to our Harry here. And much to your great fortune, your duplicity has it's uses. I can respect a man who looks out only for his own priorities. You've much more potential than the other gutless worms at my disposal. The fools have all tipped their hands, but you, Severus, have played yours so very close to the chest. You should be commended for your Slytherin wit."

 

Far from reassured by those word, Snape looked ready to shit a brick. "Calm down," Harry snapped at the headmaster, finally taking pity on the man. "He's my prisoner, he doesn't even have a wand."

That shadowed dimple on Tom's cheek deepened but he said nothing.

Snape slowly turned his head toward the raven. He swallowed again, and seemed to regain some semblance of balance. Rearranging his facial features into a fragile mask, equal parts scornful and dubious, he croaked, "Don't be a moron, Potter. The Dark Lord can still make you regret your miserable little existence, even without a wand."

Tom's dark chuckle recaptured Snape's attention,  afraid to take his eyes off of the deadly venomous serpent who was poised to strike unexpectedly at any moment.

"Actually, I've done quite well for myself, thank you very much," Harry replied snottily, and then turned to Tom. "What I don't understand is what the bloody hell is happening right now.  _He,_ " and Harry jerked an accusatory thumb in Snape's direction, "murdered Dumbledore. I saw it with my own eyes. Why are you acting like he isn't on your side?"

 

"It appears our sneaky friend and the late Headmaster planned the entire event. Very clever, really," Tom replied pleasantly. When Harry frowned and opened his mouth to argue, Tom forestalled him with a raised hand. "No, Dumbledore truly is dead. The old man was dying anyways, so he bid Severus to do his dirty work and used his demise to their advantage. Isn't that right, Severus? How it must chafe to run from one master right into the shackles of another..."

Harry gaped at his former professor. It was nearly unbelievable; the explanation seemed so farfetched.

 

With Tom's revelation the pale man's wand twitched minutely in his grasp. Harry had the Death Stick pointed in Snape's face with nary a thought. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned lowly, voice more sure than he actually felt.

Snape's beetle black eyes were fixed not on Harry, but on the knobby length of elder before him. "Where did you get that?" he whispered hoarsely.

"It's a fascinating story to be sure," Tom drawled over his teacup. "Give Harry your wand, Severus," he commanded, tone promising a great many unpleasant things upon noncompliance. "Then perhaps he will tell you." Harry didn't think he really wanted to divulge his secrets to the skeevey double agent, but it _would_ be nice to not worry about being cursed at any second.

 

Everyone remained utterly still for a long moment. Snape's face was twisted in an expression that said he'd rather swallow razor blades, but with no other option he reached out with agonizing slowness and deposited his blackthorn wand into Harry's waiting palm. The Potions master then proceeded to lean back into his chair, looking utterly defeated.

Harry set the man's wand on the opposite side table and allowed his own to disappear. After a moment of silence, Snape's brow twitched with irritation. "Do you plan to elaborate any time this century, Potter?"

Harry scowled the man. "Nope," he chirped and reached over to pick up his teacup.

The Boy Who Lived had no time to react to Snape's wand zipping across the room before the walls were lit with a ghostly green light and everything went dark.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I hope you realize that you played right into that," Death mocked.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it about a million times today. I'm an idiot," Harry sneered, wrapping his arms snuggly around Frankenstein baby.

"This is all quite exciting, isn't it? So much delectable tension!" the wraith commented as brightly as it was possible for Death itself to do, one bony hand gesticulating.

"Oh, just wonderful!" Harry replied with high-pitched sarcasm. "Hey, do you think Snape is _really_ one of the good guys? I mean, it's just so bloody _unlikely_. It's like we're all in some twisted movie plot or something--"

The darkness leapt up and swallowed him again before Death was able to reply.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry lurched to his feet with a gasp and leveled his wand at the smug man luxuriating across the room. An abnormally long yew wand twirled tauntingly across one large shapely hand while a smaller blackthorn wand was tucked absentmindedly under the other, resting against the man's stomach.

"Dammit, Tom! Stop doing that!" Harry growled. "Where'd you find that?"

Tom pointed his newly regained wand lazily at the open window behind him. "It appears that your mutt had buried it in the garden."

 

_Crack!_

 

Kreacher popped into the room, gnarled old fingers promptly snapping together. "Alert!" he howled as thick black ropes shot out of nowhere. With a miniscule flick of his wand Tom dispelled the cords before they could even touch him.

Kreacher growled at the Dark Lord, bulbous eyes fixed on the wizard with bitter loathing. "Kreacher tells his Master that it's a trixy, filthy, squirmy little insect, yes, but Master doesn't listen to poor Kreacher, no..." The elf wrung his hands, shuffling backward.

The wizened little house elf was nearly doubled over, eyes red and watery, tunic stained and hanging limply off of his emaciated form. His hairy white ears drooped miserably, and Harry was suddenly struck with a memory of a familiar sight.

"Kreacher," he asked slowly, already knowing and dreading the answer, "have you slept since we got here?"

"Kreacher cannot sleep when his ungrateful Master asks Kreacher to be keeping one eye on the prisoner at all times," the elf drawled in scratchy tone that clearly implied what he thought of his master's intelligence.

Harry slapped a hand over his face and let it slide down. "Ugh, Merlin help me," he groaned. "Remember last year when we talked about this? You are allowed to sleep! No matter what. In fact, I order you to sleep on a regular schedule regardless of anything else I say! There, that better?"

Kreacher surveyed Harry with an unreadable expression for a solemn moment before  _popping_ back out of the room, presumably to get some long-overdue rest. Harry sighed and refocused on the situation at hand.

 

Movement out of the corner of his eye made Harry turn to see that Snape too was on his feet, white as a sheet, transfixed by the sight of his former student. "How...?" the man croaked.

"What?" Harry muttered defensively, cringing away from the apoplectic look on Snape's face. It wasn't a kind expression with the man's particular already over-exaggerated features.

Snape sank back into his chair, looking thoroughly rattled once more. It was a sickly satisfying sight.

 

"Our Harry here has joined me in the ranks of the immortal," Tom commented with a smirk, tilting his head to watch the other two out of the corner of a sly eye. "He has been more useful than any of my servants. Two days ago he was able to bring me back to myself, even when I myself didn't realize I was lost. You could say we have an alliance, of sorts."

Harry snorted while Snape blanched further.

 

"Keep that thing to yourself," Harry warned offhandedly, eying Tom's length of wood warily. "Or else you'll meet my friend Death again very soon." He allowed the Elder Wand to evaporate and returned to his chair.

Voldemort flashed him a sharp white smile.

 

"So, Severus," Tom said smoothly once Harry had regained his seat. "There's going to be a change of plans."

"My Lord?" Snape prompted faintly.

"Yes," Harry butted in. "No more killing people, no more insane bloody Death Eaters, no more Muggle prejudice, no more--" He ticked each item off on his fingers.

"We're still ironing out the details," Tom interrupted. "But you, my friend, will be very useful indeed." The Dark Lord leveled a promising gaze at his servant, who shuddered slightly.

 

Harry's stomach gave a loud growl then, and he reached out toward the coffee table for third lunch. The platter held a smattering of crumbs, nothing more. He felt his eye twitch and let out a hiss of displeasure before slumping back again. "So you're not going to kill him then?" he snapped grouchily, crossing his arms and jerking his head toward Snape.

"Oh no, Harry, don't be absurd," Tom purred. "Our Severus here ought to be rewarded for sticking to his principles, don't you think?"

Harry grunted.

"You will hold your position and continue as though nothing has changed until such time as you receive further orders. You may inform Bellatrix that I am still displeased with her; I know how the two of you so enjoy the competition. And finally you will divulge nothing of what you've seen or heard here today. I'm quite certain I don't need to explain the consequences of disobedience, isn't that right, Severus?"

Eyes cast to the floor, the Potions master whispered, "As you command, My Lord."

 

"Excellent," Tom said pleasantly, toasting the other man with his teacup. "Send a few owls over for my use. You can expect word within the week." With that Tom tossed Snape his wand.

Snape caught it and stood, bowing low to the floor. Without speaking another word or making eye contact with anyone, there were a billow of the man's long black robes and then his footfalls could be heard descending the stairs at a rapid clip.

"Well that went swimmingly," Harry muttered sarcastically. In all truth though it  _had_ gone much more smoothly than he had dared hope, but there were still far too many loose ends dangling just out of reach.

"I thought so too," Tom quipped, floating his empty tea cup back over to the tray on the coffee table.

 

"One problem," Harry said, sending the other man a challenging glare. "You still haven't mentioned what it is you plan to do."

"Afraid I'm still brewing something nefarious, Harry?" Tom taunted with a smirk.

"Yes," the raven responded bluntly.

"Tell me then, what would you have me do?" The unreadable gleam in the other man's eye made the question feel like a trap, but Harry blundered on regardless.

"Stop being a dick," Harry snorted. "Give up plans for world domination, or whatever it is that you were trying to do. Stop discriminating against Muggle-borns--"

 

"Ah yes, you are quite fond of a certain Muggle-born girl, are you not?" Tom asked in a light tone, nestling into the corner of the sofa and closing his eyes, for all intents and purposes preparing for a kip.

"You leave her out of this," Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. His heart jumped into a gallop in his chest.

"I do believe that _you_ are the one who brought her into this, Harry," Voldemort replied lazily, folding his hands over his chest. His wand was nowhere to be seen but its disappearance did not comfort the raven in the slightest. "What was her name again? A Miss Hermione Granger, I think? And you are quite close to a Mister Ronald Weasley as well, if I am not mistaken."

"You know very well you aren't, you bastard," Harry seethed, the anger bubbling up from his gut getting the best of him. He stomped toward the man napping like an overgrown house cat. "You don't get to say their names after everything you've put them through! If you think you can threaten my friends, I will--"

 

 

The other man moved so fast that his actions were a blur, a stark difference from his previous slothfulness. One moment Harry was standing over him, glowering and spitting bile, and the next he was face down on the sofa. A great weight pressed down on top of him, and all of the air  _whooshed_ out of his lungs. When the raven felt his arms wrenched behind his back and secured with a ripple of magic, he sucked in what little breath he could to call for help.

"Kreacher" he wheezed, but the little elf did not come. Before he could get anything else out, a gag cut him off. Harry clenched his teeth reflexively on the obstruction.

 _'A bit,_ ' he thought in absolute astonishment as he worked his jaw fruitlessly.  _'A bit, like a fucking horse.'_

The enormous mass squashing him into the cushions shifted, and Harry was able to turn his head to the side, eyes wide and breath coming through his nose like a bellows.

 

"You know," Tom began conversationally from his perch astride Harry's hips. "There is something about you, _Harry_ , that I just can't put my finger on." One intent finger stoked lightly down the raven's back. An odd sensation trickled down his spine as his shirt melted away like beads of water at the other man's touch.

Hot, panic-laden adrenaline burst like fireworks through Harry's veins, and he thrashed uselessly under the larger man. As the remains of this top pooled onto the floor, the young wizard bucked hard enough that the sofa _scraped_ across the floor a few millimeters. Tom let out a huff that might have been a laugh and smashed Harry down into the cushions with a heavy palm between his shoulder blades. The older wizard shifted to kneel over his captive, tracing his other hand over the curve of Harry's buttocks and down his legs. Denim dripped down the raven's thighs.

"I think you're hiding something from me, Harry."

Harry tried to scream and rage at the other man, but all that emerged were gurgling wheezes. He attempted to flex his fingers but they were bound in such a way that he could not maintain any sort of grip. The Death Stick clattered to the floor and vanished once again.

 

"Odd as it may be, I've never actually had the desire to touch anyone else before," Lord Voldemort murmured as he levered himself down to hover more closely against the smaller boy's back. Another ripple of wandless magic and bare skin skated over bare skin like silk. "In fact, I haven't even felt arousal since I made the diary when I was sixteen. Of course I allowed others to service me before then, but there is just a certain something about you,  _Harry_ ," and there was certain something in the way that Tom whispered his name in his ear that made the raven shudder, gut clenching, "that inspires me."

 

Without warning teeth clamped onto the meat of Harry's shoulder, muscle mashed between unrelenting molars, and a muffled cry left his throat. The  _hurt_ of it was staggering.

After a few seconds the Dark Lord released him with a deep groan that reverberated down into Harry's body. "Or perhaps it's simply fitting after all. My nemesis..." This time teeth cut into the flesh atop his shoulder blade. "My  _savior..._ "

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry fought against the burst of endorphins that made his head swim. Gathering his strength, he bucked again as Tom released the raven from his jaws. The wooden legs  _screeched_ across the floor, followed a second later by a resounding  _smack_.

 

Harry's eyes snapped open, the white visible all around. There was a pause where neither man drew breath, one in shock and the other in anticipation.

 

In a delayed reaction white, hot stinging pain exploded across the raven's rib cage and his garbled shout did in fact make it past the bit between his teeth.

"Nnn _nnngh!_ " His foot thumped futilely against the arm rest.

"So pretty," Tom crooned, roughly massaging the ghostly white handprint as it rapidly flushed blood red. He scraped blunt nails across the mark, and Harry let out a hoarse whine before scrubbing his face into the fabric. The older man groaned again, and ground his pelvis into Harry's arse. "Perhaps it's fate," he murmured huskily in continuation of his previous train of thought.

 

The velvety iron rod pressed temporarily into the crevice between his cheeks caused Harry's heart to beat so fiercely he could hear it thudding in his ears, but he was quickly distracted bya shift in the hulking mass above him and those punishing jaws closing upon his hip. Another echoing  _smack_ rent the air, leaving a second molten mark across his shoulder and causing the raven's head to jerk back. Through the haze of shock, pain, adrenaline, and endorphins Harry's brain sluggishly wondered if Kreacher was really  _that_ deep of a sleeper that he didn't at least _hear_ the disturbance upstairs.

The next bite was sunk into the tender juncture where thigh met buttock, the pressure just shy of breaking the skin, and Harry arched and squirmed beneath the other man, choking, unable to draw breath for the immense pain of it. Another deafening blow landed dead center on the opposite arse cheek.

The pair was stone still for a long moment, Harry locked in the jaws of the beast. When Tom's teeth finally relented, Harry's Avada eyes rolled back and every muscle in his body liquefied. He lay boneless beneath the other man, breath coming in harsh short bursts through his nose. His consciousness ebbed, and only a pitifully quiet whimper escaped as another palm print bloomed hotly on his thigh.

 

"Good," Tom praised at his surrender, caressing his flank with one hand as the other began to roughly knead Harry's buttocks. "That's my good boy," he murmured huskily, sitting back on his haunches.

Harry was lost to sensation, drunk and discombobulated, and didn't even flinch when the older man grasped both of his arse cheeks and spread him open to the cool air. A puff of warm air against his most private region caused his thighs to twitch, and when the hot slick devilish muscle in Tom's mouth made contact, Harry's eyes met the back of his skull once more. Everything felt so fuzzy...

 

 

 

 

The Dark Lord groaned into the boy's crevice before his tongue darted out again to trace his dusky orifice. The flavor was attractive; musky but clean, somehow sweet. His adversary had scarcely more than a dusting of downy hairs surrounding his nether opening, just a preciously pink little pucker surrounded by supple globes of milky white flesh. Burying his face between the raven's cheeks, he feasted like starved man on the beautiful sight before him. He could only respond to the little jerks and whimpers of the boy below him with redoubled vigor. Merlin, how he'd make up for fifty years with no libido.

Sitting up and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, Voldemort ran the pad of his thumb over the sopping opening, the resulting twitch causing a sympathetic response in his own rock hard organ. Sucking on his bottom lip in anticipation, he rubbed the flushed rim in rhythmic circles, letting out a heavy breath as the little bud seemed to bloom for him; his thumb sunk smoothly inside.

All at once, Tom was out of patience and self-control.

Using one muscular forearm to hoist up the raven's hips, Tom knelt over those smooth creamy thighs and took himself in hand. A little spit to slick himself enough to make his endeavor possible, and he pressed the silky tip of his cock to Harry's opening.

 

 

 

 

There was a pressure against his backside that he barely registered through the haze. His whole body was a mess of strange sensations, some pleasure, some pain, and the result was almost like he was floating. There was a soft  _pop_ , felt rather than heard, and Harry was snapped unceremoniously back to the present.

"Nnnnggghhh!" Harry sobbed out, as something terrifyingly  _massive_ sunk deeply inside of him without warning.

 

 

 

 

"Ugggh," Tom moaned in synchronicity, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut. The boy was so fucking tight he feared his cock might snap in half with the pressure. He drew back slightly before plunging back in, again and again, burrowing deeper with every thrust.

 

 

 

 

The fierce burn in his rectum was maddening, along with a distinctly unpleasant pinching sensation. Each recession felt so alien, and each thrust back in felt like it was splitting him in half. It couldn't possibly fit, not without tearing him apart.

"Nnn, s'op!" the raven choked, and began thrashing again. The body pinning him down stilled, rough fingers delved into his hair without warning, wrenching his head back.

 

"Ah!" Harry gasped around the bit in his mouth. Lying face down with his arse in the air, arms bound behind him, and neck craned up via the force pulling at his scalp--it was difficult to breathe. "Ah! Ah!" he panted, utterly ruined.

Out of the corner of one streaming eye, Harry could see a forearm slide parallel to his head before the indomitable weight above him shifted and covered him completely. The fingers in his hair loosened, untangled, and slid around to roughly cradle his throat and jaw. Harry gulped in oxygen through his nose as the black started to recede from the edges of his vision.

"Shhh," a low voice rumbled against Harry's ear. He could feel goose pimples break out over his skin and he trembled beneath the other man. "You're going to hurt yourself if you struggle."

Normally Harry would have liked to argue against ridiculous statements like that, but when Tom flexed his hips and pushed in, in,  _in_ , until his bollocks pressed flush to Harry's arse, his mind finally abandoned him entirely.

 

 

 

 

"That's it," Tom growled, bare feet dug into the cushions and taut gluts clenching rhythmically. He could feel the strength in the body beneath him leach away entirely, the vice-like clamp around his member easing as it did. Bracing himself on his forearms, he pulled almost completely out before ramming home again. The sobbing sounds coming from the raven fueled his pleasure, and he let out a long low hiss of air from between clenched teeth before commencing to fucking the boy in earnest.

Every drive home was accompanied by the smallest of whimpers, and soon the Dark Lord moved with abandon, seeking out only his own pleasure. So hot, so tight, so fucking  _good_. When he noticed the tear tracks across the cheek below him, he collected them on his tongue with a heartfelt "Mmmm..."

It was exquisite. And, like all truly wonderful things, it did not last nearly as long as he would have liked.

As the burn in his thighs and hip flexors mounted, so too did the impending molten bliss building in the man's abdomen. With each hot wet  _perfect_ slide back in, the sensation was drawn closer and closer to the fore, and with a final few brutal thrusts Tom fisted worn fabric in white knuckles and filled up the boy beneath him. "Ahhh," he groaned, lashes fluttering with the all-encompassing beauty of it. As the last jets of milky fluid spurted from him he let out a ragged exhale and allowed his body to collapse.

 

 

 

It took only a few moments for Tom to regain his bearings enough to realize that the boy crushed beneath him was not drawing breath. With a labored groan the older man withdrew and rolled to the side,  _thumping_ onto all fours and pivoting to check on the raven youth.

Glassy emerald eyes stared blankly into space just past Tom, face wet and pink and actually rather endearing. Still no breathing though.

 

"Moron," the elder wizard grumbled, waving a hand and watching all of the bindings phase out of existence. He touched the boy's hand, still lying limply across the small of his back. It was cold and disturbingly purple, cinched too long without circulation. Oops. He'd have to be more careful next time. "If you actually die from this, I'll have you know that I won't feel bad. Not even a little." No response. 

Moving the boy's arms to his sides, Tom proceeded to roll the boneless body over and halfway into his lap. As Harry landed on his back he gave a great shudder and, finally, a shaky inhale.

Tom smirked down at the incognizant creature in his arms before hoisting the boy over his shoulder and heading toward his bedroom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything was wrong.

Even as he stretched between soft downy blankets, his entire body was uncomfortable.

His head was absolutely pounding. His elbows ached fiercely, and his wrists throbbed; it was all he could do to drag his arms weakly up to tuck them against his body. There was a bone deep radiating soreness, like fresh deep bruising, scattered throughout his torso; his shoulder, his back, his hip, and  _dear sweet Merlin,_ his  _arse._ Apart from feeling like mince meat, the low aching smolder that was his rectum made him whimper aloud in protest of movement.

 

"What the fuck _..._ " Harry groaned, stiffly shuffling onto his stomach and cracking an eye open. He immediately shut it again as the soft rays of sunlight peeking in through the drapes stabbed him viciously in the retina. He turned his face into the pillow and let out another muffled "What the  _fuuuuuuck_..."

It took several long minutes before Harry had mustered the determination to try again, during which time he reflected dimly that this was probably what a hangover felt like. Not that he'd ever had enough alcohol to know from experience. Seventeen years old, and instead of going pubbing with his mates he'd been on the run, living out of a shoddy tent and going half-starved. A shite hand he'd been dealt, indeed.

After blinking rapidly and wiping at his watering eyes for a another solid minute, Harry finally registered the sight before him.

 

"ARRGH!"

 

It was with much post-regret that Harry flailed, toppling off of the mattress and landing with his sore bottom on the unforgiving wooden floor. A jolt of pain like lightening raced up his spine and he could only curl into the fetal position and wait for his breath to return.

"Uggh," he moaned, tentatively sitting back up after a few moments. He straightened so that he was eye-level with the source of his distress. A rather demonic scowl overtook the young raven's features.

 

"What the bloody  _fuck_ are you doing?" he spat at the prone form of the man on the other side of the bed.

 

Tom Riddle sighed and rolled over onto his back, draping an arm lethargically over his eyes. The sheet that had been covering him from the waist down twisted as he moved, and Harry hastily averted his eyes as a portion of the man's muscular pelvis and toned thigh were revealed.

"My, aren't you spritely this morning," the older man deadpanned, baritone voice scratchy from sleep. "Much to my surprise."

 

Harry's scowl deepened as he stared incredulously at the other wizard. That is, until he noticed the state of his own undress.

A very unmanly yelp echoed in the silent house as Harry scrabbled to rip the heavy comforter from the bed and pile it into his lap. Tom huffed, a slight curl to the corner of his mouth.

The raven's throbbing head started to spin, electric flashes of phantom sensation exploding through him as the recollection of the previous night hit him like a freight train. He exhaled a ragged breath as his sore arse clenched around nothing.

 

"You--" he choked out, eyes bulging. "You--" Still nothing came to his boggled mind.

The Dark Lord huffed again, the barest of laughs, and shifted his forearm enough to peak at the boy huddled on the floor out of the corner of one wickedly gleaming eye. Though he wasn't outright smiling, the shadow of a dimple in his cheek deepened with amusement.

 

It took a few moments of unintelligible spluttering before Harry found his ability to speak. Scuttling shakily backwards and dragging the large blanket entirely off the bed, he shouted in a voice decidedly higher than his normal pitch.

"You--you sick fucking psycho!" Clutching the downy comforter to his bare and bruised torso, he sucked in several deep lungfuls of air, a numb sort of panic rising. "You r-r--" he choked on the word, unable to utter it aloud. "You can't just bloody  _do_ that to people! What the fuck is wrong with you?" Emerald eyes stared in horror at the lax man on the bed.

"You nasty old man! I am SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD. And I'm a bloke!  _What the_   _fuck is wrong with you?_ "

Harry moaned pitifully and buried his face in the wad of blanket he held cradled in his lap. What came out next was muffled yet still shrill. "Oh god, that hurts. Hurts so fucking bad. It's probably bleeding. Lord Voldemort took my virginity like a sick pervy fuck..." Another whimpering moan of misery.

 

"Salazar," Tom groaned, sitting up on his side of the bed and wiping a hand over his face. He held out a hand and a pair of trousers zoomed into his grasp from the spot they had been cast off onto the floor. He chucked them at the curled up teen on the floor and stood. "You'll live, I'm sure."

Harry yelped as the pants cuffed him upside the head and raised his face to glare at the man before him. Tom, no, Satan himself stood in the center of the room, chiseled body naked in all its glory.

Hauling the blanket with him, Harry jumped to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at the other man. "Stay away from me, you--you  _criminal_!" he howled. He stumbled backward, hissing in pain and curling inward as his mangled shoulder collided with the wall behind him.

Tom looked toward the ceiling as though searching for divine intervention. When none came he shot a sly look in the raven's direction. "On second thought, perhaps not..."

A length of yew zagged through the air and a ghostly green glow permeated the bright morning light.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry lay on his bench, staring blankly up at the shroud of soft white mist swirling about the ceiling.

"May I just say," a blackened figure drawled before sucking in a long rattling breath, "oooh myyy, the  _drama_!" Death shuddered as though with a chill. The eager lilt to its voice was frankly quite disturbing.

"No," Harry tossed snottily over his shoulder, still staring unblinkingly into the nothingness. "No, you may not."

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. I Wanna Chain You Up, I Wanna Tie You Down, I'm Just a Sucker for Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, insomnia; bane of my existence but friend to readers everywhere. Your promised update, 11 days early.
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is reaching the half-way point very quickly. Currently I do not have any further material pre-written, but I've got a detailed outline through to the end, along with some random draft text attached in places I wanted to remember. Due to this factor, you can expect updates every two weeks rather than weekly from here on out. That might not always be the case (I said that for this chapter too but it somehow still managed to make it out in 3 days), but I'd rather overestimate than underestimate.

_I torture you,_

_Take my hand through the flames._

_(More pain, got me beggin', beggin', beggin', beggin'...)_

_Won't hesitate to go straight to your head like a concussion._

_Devoted to destruction, a full dose of detrimental dysfunction._

_No pain, no gain._

_No emotion, that's what business is;_

_Lord have mercy on the witnesses_.

"Sucker For Pain" Imagine Dragons, Lil Wayne, & Wiz Khalifa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Harry came to Voldemort was gone.

He picked himself up off of the cold floor and wrapped the blanket around his waist, craning his neck to peer cautiously through the huge gaping hole in the wall. Nothing.

"Kreacher," he whispered.

 

_Crack!_

 

"Master calls?"

"Yes, Master does call," Harry said, frowning down at his elf. "Where were you yesterday?"

"Kreacher was resting as Kreacher's Master commanded," the creature drawled, looking entirely unconcerned with Harry's displeasure. He did in fact appear to be feeling better. His enormous bat-like ears were perky and his tunic was clean and unwrinkled.

"Don't tell me you didn't know what was happening, because that's bullshit," the young wizard sassed back. Phantom sensation crept over him like a chill. The raven shook it off and shoved the recollection deep down before it could surface. "Let's amend this, shall we? You are to get regular sleep, but if there is an  _attack_ you need to come and help. Special circumstances."

Kreacher stared at him through slitted eyes, face blank.

"I  _know_ you understand what I'm talking about, so don't give me that look. That's an order, got it?"

The little old elf was silent for a long moment as he examined his yellow claw-like fingernails. "Kreacher has no interest in his Master's mating habits, no, nasty business will scar Kreacher for life. Master tells Kreacher to ignore all other orders and rest when Kreacher wants, he does, and Kreacher is bound to obey his ungrateful Master--"

"Dammit, Kreacher! You--" Harry forcibly cut himself off, running a hand irritably through the bird's nest on his head. "Argh!" he huffed, throwing a hand up in the air. If Hermione ever found out what he  _wanted_  to say to the house elf, he'd be a goner. Merlin help him if she ever became a Legilimens.

 

"You know what, fine, be deliberately unhelpful," he snapped. "But I want you to know that there will be no  _mating_ happening in this house! And there wasn't yesterday either. I was a _ccosted_. Violently.  _I'm_ the one scarred for life here, you little berk."

Kreacher leveled him with a dubious expression that made Harry's lip curl back in a sneer. "Can a man get some clothes around here?" he grumbled, gesturing widely at himself.

With a  _pop_  Kreacher was gone. A second later a pile of clothes appeared on the rumbled bed, a canary yellow tweed jumper and corduroy trousers. There were also undergarments and a pair of garish purple leather shoes.

"Oh, that little shite," Harry seethed, pulling on the offending garments.

All in all, it was a poor start to the day.

 

 

 

Harry crept through the barren manor like a thief in the night and mercifully managed to avoid encountering his host on his way down to the kitchen. He attempted to transfigure his ridiculous outfit into something more suitable but only managed to turn his shirt a darker puke color and his trouser material horribly scratchy. Apparently wielding an all-powerful wand did not automatically make the caster better at subtle transfigurations.

As the raven slipped silently into the kitchen, an enormous breakfast spread appeared on the table with a  _snap_. His stomach howled at the sight.

"Thanks," he grunted, taking a seat. "Take mercy on a bloke will you," Harry said, picking up a fork with one hand and waving at his wardrobe with the other. He stabbed at a banger. "It's been a shite few days. I'm sorry I called you a berk. You've been very helpful, Kreacher, I didn't really mean it."

"Kreacher is glad his Master has found his manners, oh yes, poor Kreacher should be recognized for all of his hard work day and night, fetching and cleaning and cooking and watching and chauffeuring and creeping and..." the little elf went on for another few moments while Harry rolled his eyes and stuffed his face. "Kreacher also thinks his Master is looking dapper, mhmm, and Kreacher is always telling his Master the truth, yes he does," the house elf finished, baring his crooked teeth in what Harry supposed was a half-arsed and rather condescending attempt at at a pleasant smile.

Harry huffed but let the matter drop. Pick your battles, and all.

 

After cramming down three servings of all of his favorites Harry stood, patting his stomach. "You're the best Kreacher."

"Kreacher is well aware."

"Look, I absolutely have to get out of here today or I'm going to lose it completely. I need to go talk to Ron and Hermione. Can you please just come get me if Tom tries to leave the house or if anyone else shows up?" He swallowed thickly, lower body clenching. "I'll be the one to deal with any trouble; I don't want you putting yourself in harm's way."

Kreacher appeared to think it over for a moment before nodding solemnly. "Kreacher will make sure the prisoner keeps its grubby little toes in a line." Harry didn't think that was how the expression was supposed to go, but didn't bother to correct his elf.

"That'd be great, if you--"

He froze as he heard footfalls in the hall outside of the kitchen. "Gotta go!" he squeaked, and apparated on the spot.

 

 

 

 

 

Harry arrived outside of a picket garden fence, no breath in his lungs.

"Kkk," he choked, eyes wide, and teetered for a moment before collapsing sideways into the dirt.

He dimly heard the door to the small cottage open and used his good hand to grasp his pant leg and drag himself entirely out of view. "Shite," he hissed, head spinning.

"Bill?" a feminine voice called out. "It ez not like you to forget things."

Harry bit into his knuckles and tried to hold any sounds at bay. Through the overwhelming tide of agony he prayed fuzzily that he was entirely hidden behind the wooden slats and burgeoning rose bushes. It wouldn't do any good if he were to be found in such a state.

The was a long pause before the high voice grumbled softly, "All zis paranoia, I'll soon be grey!" The door closed once more.

"Nngh," Harry groaned, glancing down. He immediately averted his watery eyes with a cracked yet firm, "Nope."

He fumbled with the Death Stick in his slick left hand, bringing carmine-stained wood up under his chin. He  _really_ hoped this worked.

"A-Avada Kkk--" the raven whimpered. He knew he needed to hurry before he passed out. He gritted his teeth and pushed the words out in a harsh whisper. "Avada Kedavra!" 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Somebody's getting careless with their new powers, hmm? Apparently you  _do_ fancy being strewn across the country side in chunks," Death commented with a snicker like dry crunching leaves. "It's going to take quite a while to put you back together this time."

Harry scowled. "That was an accident. I had to make a hasty tactical retreat and forgot to put on the cloak." He got himself comfy on his bench, settling in for a long wait.

"Impressive, the gall to off yourself. Most wouldn't have the nerve," the wraith commented, and for the first time ever took a seat next to the raven. Harry scooted over nervously so that the wispy blackened tendrils emanating from the figure's cloak wouldn't touch him. "Of course if you hadn't, it would have cost you  _an arm and a leg_."

"Blergh," the wizard groaned, sticking out his tongue and scrunching his nose. "That was terrible. You're not nearly as funny as you think you are, I promise you."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The wizard heard voices in the kitchen as he grew near. He didn't bother to approach with stealth; there was absolutely no need. There was a high-pitched yelp and a  _pop_ just before he rounded the corner.

The squat little elf stood near the small breakfast table, peering at something on the ground. It glanced up as the Dark Lord wandered into the room.

"Kreacher's idiot Master always leaves poor Kreacher to clean up his clumsy messes," the filthy thing muttered to itself under its breath. One bulbous eye swiveled over to the other occupant in the room. "Kreacher is left alone with it again, yes, Kreacher could try to help his Master by exterminating the filthy ruffian but it is a slippery slimy one, hmmm..." it croaked, trailing off as nudged the object on the floor with a warty toe.

 

Tom tilted his head to the side curiously. On the tiled floor there appeared to be a severed foot, cut off blow the knee and still nestled inside a hideous plum-colored loafer and tweed sock. The elf jabbed at it again, too hard, and limb flopped over a dull  _splat_.

The gremlin-like being turned and waddled back over to its work station. Tom tucked his hands into his transfigured black slacks and sauntered over to the table. One chair was already pulled out and the surface was littered with the remains of a large meal. He sat, one knee crossed over the other, and surveyed the offending body part with his chin perched on a fist.

"Elf," he commanded eventually once it was clear he was being ignored.

 

The creature didn't spare him a glance, continuing to bustle about. Doing what exactly, Tom could only imagine; whatever it was involved a great deal of metal pots and pans  _clanging_ glaringly together. "Kreacher will pretend he doesn't hear it, no, perhaps the vile hoodlum will go away Kreacher is thinking..."

It continued to narrate its thoughts in a whispered stream of consciousness. He wondered if the daft thing imagined no one could hear it. Tom considered once again putting the wretched mutt out of its misery, but his new body had needs that he hadn't the inclination to see to on his own. Besides, it was mildly better than having Wormtail skulking about.

"Elf. Food," he drawled again.

 

The house elf, "Creature," as it so aptly called itself, paused. It barked a few choice swear words before snapping it's gnarled fingers together. The mess vanished from the tabletop, replaced by a single plate.

"It bosses Kreacher around like it sits on high, but no, Kreacher wants to squish it under his foot, Kreacher does..."

Tom glanced lazily down at the small appetizer plate near his elbow. A solitary green grape sat perfectly in the center. The man smirked and leaned back, slinging an arm over the back of his chair. He popped the grape into his mouth and crushed it between sharp incisors. A burst of bright tangy flavor bathed his tastebuds and he chewed slowly, savoring.

He watched with mild fascination as the gore on the floor began to evaporate.

"Elf."

 

Another grape appeared to replace the first, followed by a grumbled whisper from across the room. "Kreacher hopes it chokes on it..."

Tom repeated the action, sucking on the fruity morsel and humming in appreciation.

It was astounding, really. In all of his long years he never stopped to consider what he'd given up. Even if he had, Tom wasn't self-deluded enough to think that he would have changed his mind and pursued a different path. He'd taken the small things for granted, dismissing them as unimportant against the larger picture. But now... It was like seeing in color for the very first time after a lifetime in shades of grey. Well, and crimson.

"Elf."

 

Tufts of white fur bristled in huge bat-like ears. With an irritable  _snap_ the entire table was suddenly overflowing with the little globes of fruit, rolling off the edge in a cascade and bouncing across the floor.

"Kreacher is suddenly feeling tired, yes he is, Kreacher is thinking old age is making him need a nap. Master tells Kreacher that sleep is important, it is an order, yes, and Kreacher needs it for his health..." The wizened little creature stomped from the kitchen without a backwards glance, still muttering. The  _slam_ of the closing door echoed through the manor.

 

Tom threw back his head and laughed, white-toothed. Definitely an improvement over the rat. He scooped up a handful of grapes, tossing the entire bunch in his mouth at once. Stepping over the empty shoe, he sauntered over to the stove to pick hot kippers out of the pan with his fingers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Sooo," Death drawled after a moment.

"So what?" Harry asked defensively, propping Little Tommy up against his bare chest. The alien creature seemed different somehow; less twisted and malformed. Its breaths came easily as it blinked its squinty scarlet eyes peacefully, arms tucked underneath its torso.

"Soooooooo..."

"Would you cut it out already?" Harry snapped, turning his jaw stubbornly away from his skeletal companion. "I don't want to talk about it. In fact, I'm  _never_ going to talk about it. Taking it to my grave. Actually, it never even _happened_! I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Repression isn't healthy, Harry, or so I've heard," the wraith mocked smugly. "As your very close and very sincere friend, you can always confide--"

"Nope," Harry cut in mulishly. "Nope, nope, _nope_. Haven't got a clue what you mean by that."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  _Knock, knock, knock!_

 

 

"'Arry! I thought I 'eard someone apparate in but when no one came to ze door I thought eet was my overactive imagination, cooped up in zis place for so long," the quarter-Veela chattered, ushering the raven inside. "You naughty boy, you! What were you doing outside all zis time?"

"Oh, you know, just getting some fresh air..." he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh my, what 'as 'appened to your clothes?" Fleur gasped, fluttering about his person.

"Er," Harry said, trying to edge away from the blonde. "Just, uh, a little wardrobe malfunction, y'know."

 

"Harry!"

 

Emerald eyes shot up in relief as a bushy-haired girl thundered down the stairs. "Help," he mouth silently over Fleur's shoulder as she plucked at his sleeve.

Hermione shouldered past the other woman, throwing her arms around her friend. "I'm so relieved you're back! Oh my, what on earth are you wearing?"

"It's nothing really, Kreacher was just feeling froggy this morning," he muttered evasively, allowing himself to be led into the kitchen. Fleur shot the younger girl an annoyed look but lead the way, bustling over to the stove.

"Sit, sit," the blonde woman commanded airily. "'Ave you eaten yet, 'Arry? Lunch eez almost ready."

"Yes--er, no, actually," he stuttered, stomach growling at the mention of food. "Lunch would be lovely, Fleur."

 

"We were expecting you back last night," Hermione said in an undertone, concern marring her features. "Did you run into trouble then?" She pulled her wand out of the huge puffy bun atop her head and aimed it at the wizard's shirt.

"Nope," Harry responded quickly. She gave him an odd look. He backpedaled, hastily amending, "Well, the  _usual_ sort of trouble with these things, y'know..." He shot a meaningful glance a Fleur's back as the woman ladled steaming soup in bowls.

"M _hmm_ ," Hermione hummed, eyebrow arched, before twisting her wand in a complicated motion. The loose threads above his elbow lengthened and slithered down his arm, fabric knitting back together.

"You three and your secrets!" Fleur scoffed, floating three bowls over to the table while carrying a cutting board piled with freshly sliced bread in her arms. "As if ze rest of us 'ave nothing to do with zis war!"

 

"Speaking of three," Harry ventured, "where's Ron?" He watched with fond amusement as the tip of Hermione's tongue poked between her teeth in concentration. The color of his jumper shifted from puke yellow to puke orange. A crease formed between his friend's brows.

 "'E and Bill left a while ago to 'elp reinforce wards on people's 'omes. Zere are so many attacks every day, it eez a wonder we 'ave any troops left!" Fleur scraped a thick layer of butter over a few crusty slices of still-steaming baguette and pushed them over to Harry. A newspaper slid partially across the table with the plate, and the raven caught a glimpse of the headline before the blonde woman picked up it up and set it out of the way on an empty chair.

The cheesy Prophet header read in bold blocky letters with a slightly smaller underline: "GRINGOTTS GOBLINS GAB: MYSTERIOUS DISTURBANCE RESULTS IN TELLER EATEN BY SECURITY DRAGON!" He wasn't able to see the picture before Fleur had whisked it away.

Hermione caught him looking at the paper and leveled him a slitted glare.

"Heh," Harry coughed, avoiding eye contact, and busied himself with burning his tongue on the piping potato-leak stew.

 

 

"Ugh," Hermione sighed towards the end of the meal, giving his sweater a dirty look as though it had offended her. To be fair, it was quite offensive in general. "It's a lost cause. Kreacher must really have it in for you. Thankfully I've still got most of your clothes in my bag upstairs. Let's go have a look, shall we?"

"Please," Harry said pushing his empty bowl away and standing up. "Thanks Fleur, that was great."

 

 

The pair made their way up to the second floor as Hermione led them into a spare bedroom. The large windows looking over the sea and surrounding hills let in copious sunlight, illuminating the cozy cottage throughout. A variety of potted plants sat on the windowsills, an earthy and inviting touch to the already homey dwelling.

Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed and began disabling the security measures on her nightstand. Pulling out the small purple beaded bag, she thrust her arm in up to the shoulder and started rummaging around inside. Pulling out a few garments, she frowned as she surveyed the stack. "Huh, I could have sworn you had a few more of Molly's Christmas sweaters in here."

"Excellent," Harry chirped, pulling off his one remaining shoe and gratefully unbuttoning the horrid jumper. After stripping down to his pants he grabbed a pair of jeans and began pulling them on. He wasn't concerned with his female friend's presence; they'd lived in a tent together for the past few months after all, and she was so much closer to him than even his own blood relatives.

"Huh," he muttered, buttoning the trousers. Where they had been baggy before, now they fit him snugly. The hems, however, ended just above his ankles.

"Pfft," Hermione snorted, shooting another spell at him. The denim stretched until it just barely met the floor. "Magical growth spurt my arse."

"Oi!" the raven called, shooting her a faux frown. "Watch it, you. My ears are delicate, I'll have you know."

"I'm sure," she drawled, handing him a dark blue v-neck sweater. He pulled it over his head and immediately stuck his thumb through the familiar hole in the frayed sleeve. Sighing with satisfaction, Harry collapsed onto the bed next to his best friend.

 

Hermione cast a few silencing charms at the door and windows before laying down next to him, head nestled into his shoulder. "So, out with it then," she said, poking him in the ribs.

"Well," he began slowly. "Gringotts was a bit troublesome. Dragons and all."

"So I've read," she said, voice low and thick with disapproval.

"That was entirely _not_ my fault! Everything in that bloody vault was cursed, so I was a little distracted when we ran out of there. I wasn't exactly expecting to run straight into a fire-breathing dragon. And I'll thank you not to use that tone with me; I feel quite bad about the goblin as it is," he grumbled, slinging an arm over his face.

 

"Alright then," Hermione said after a brief pause, the words softer and kinder than before. She reached an arm around his waist and pulled herself closer. "Did you destroy it already?"

"Yeah, once I got to Hogwarts. That wasn't too bad. The last one was a tiara thingy, definitely from Ravenclaw. Stabbed the both of them in the Room of Requirement."

"And?"

"And they exploded. Shocker, that. They're gone now though," he elaborated.

"Aaand?"

"What?" he asked incredulously, lifting his arm and looking down at her. "I mean, there was a bit of commotion when the Carrows showed up, but I was able to get out there without a problem."

"Harry," she sighed, exasperated, pushing herself up to lean on one elbow. "Is that it then? Are we done now?" For some reason that sounded like a rhetorical question.

"Yeees...?" he hedged, a bit a sweat starting to prickle along his spine.

 

"Oh, Harry." She gazed down at him sadly, a tendril of curly hair slipping free of its tie and falling forward to tickle his cheek. She absently tucked it behind her ear, biting her lip with worry.

"I know you keep things from me because you think you're protecting me, and I absolutely love you for that, Harry. But there are some secrets that you can't just bury and pretend they don't exist." The raven wondered for a wild moment which secrets she was referring to, but his alarm fell just a notch when she continued. "Those weren't the last horcruxes, were they?"

 

Harry turned his face away, gazing out at the clear blue sky beyond the window. "No, they weren't," he admitted quietly after a long minute.

She reached up with a lightly trembling finger and caressed the jagged scar on his brow. "I always knew there was some reason why it  _had_ to be you." Her soft fingers drifted to smooth out his bangs before she allowed her hand to drop back down, squeezing his own. "You haven't been able to get it out yet?" she whispered, moisture making her amber eyes shine.

 

The raven sighed in defeat and turned on his side to face her, emerald eyes searching her own. "It's not that I can't..." He wasn't sure how to finish that thought; in fact, he felt suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that he didn't really know what he was doing at all. It was like a guillotine hanging over his head with no King's Cross on the other side.

"Then why haven't you?" Hermione prompted, endlessly patient and understanding.

"Well," he struggled with how to put it. "It's like there's been this little piece inside of me my whole life. It's strange and fucked up, but it kind of feels like mine. I _could_ destroy it, I just don't really want to." His thoughts turned to the tortured shard that was usually nestled so safely in his arms. "It's mad, I know. It doesn't even make any sense. But I was thinking that maybe I could hang onto it, use it as leverage, you know?"

He snorted humorlessly, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. "The Dark Lord's one and only walking human horcrux. It sounds even stupider when I say it out loud."

 

"Hmm," Hermione hummed, forehead pinched with the intensity of her thoughts. "Harry," she said slowly, "that's actually quite brilliant."

"Huh?" he grunted, eyes snapping back to his friend.

"Think about it! What does Tom Riddle want more than anything?" She sat up, excitement growing. "Immortality, of course. That's what started this whole mess to begin with. If you can offer him what he desires most in exchange for what _we_ desire most, well, at least we've got a start!"

"Whew!" Harry said, letting out an enormous sigh of relief and slumping back. "You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that, 'Mione. I was starting to worry that everything I've done so far is a mistake, that maybe I really am losing it after all. Wouldn't be that surprising, really--"

"Oh, stop," she chided, smacking his arm lightly with the back of her hand. "It's true that you  _do_ tend to rush into things without thinking, but you are always perfectly clever whenever you truly put your mind to something."

"Golly gee, Hermione, thanks," he parroted at her with a facetious googly-eyed gaze. When she burst out into bright laugher and smacked him again, he couldn't help the enormous grin that spread crookedly across his face. In that one moment his soul felt just a little bit lighter, the heavy burden on his shoulders just a little less crushing.

 

"Right then," he said with renewed vigor, sitting up as well. "How exactly do we go about getting what we want? By the way, what is it exactly that we want? I can assure you right now that Tom won't be all, 'Sure Harry, I'll stop being a mass-murdering psycho if you agree to carry my soul baby inside of you.'"

That crease on the witch's brow deepened. He was pretty sure she hadn't heard a word of what he had just said. Harry reached out with a thumb and pushed the skin below her hairline down so that a mass of giant wrinkles formed on her forehead. "Stop it," she snapped, swatting him again. "Oh! I've got it!"

"Yeah?" Harry prompted impatiently, the excitement catching.

"A contract," Hermione said primly, one finger raised in the air. There was a worrying glint in her eye, an uncharacteristic smirk pulling at her lips. "A binding magical agreement."

 And thus a new plot was hatched.

 

 

 

 

"Merlin," Harry protested a few hours later, stretching out his arms to alleviate the ache in his shoulders. "Can't do it anymore. Need a break."

At some point during the proceedings Ron had returned, running up the stairs like a herd of elephants and jumping into the dog pile of teenagers on Hermione's bed. They filled him in on the new plan, and after the ginger had gotten over the gross factor of have a parasitic soul leech he soon jumped on board. His offhanded question of, "So what's it like to have bits of Voldie in you?" made Harry "Nope," again.

The trio set their noses to the grindstone and before long the room was littered with the customary bits of parchment and heavy tomes. Now the redhead lay boredly, upside down on the bed, tossing a wad of scrap parchment into the air and catching it over and over again.

"Hey Harry," he said, launching the ball back toward the ceiling. "What's he like?"

"Er," Harry said, caught off guard by another random and uncomfortable question. He wandered over to the window and leaned against the sill. The sun was just setting. "Intense, I guess," he muttered, unsure how to answer. Hermione's hand stilled upon the quill she was writing with. She didn't look up at him, but he could tell she was listening intently.

Ron snorted. "Could'a guessed that one, mate." He tossed the paper ball again. "C'mon, what else? He's _You-Know-Who_ , right? Is he like an evil little vampiric git, then?"

It was Harry's turn to snort. "No blood-sucking so far, but he's definitely a git."

Ron shrugged and nodded, like Harry was confirming the obvious. He fumbled the next catch and had to snap out a long gangly arm to intercept the crumpled ball before it hit the floor. "I mean, in my mind it's just like Avada's flyin' everywhere, y'know?" The redhead put his hands together and mimed an explosion, including sound effects, to demonstrate. "Or worse, trying to torture everything that moves..." He trailed off then, probably remembering Malfoy Manor, and let his arms flop back to the bed. " _You-Know-Who_ ," he scoffed again under his breath a few seconds later, tone laced with just the slightest bit of awe.

Harry shifted from foot to foot in agitation. He swallowed thickly. "It's not..." he caught a flash of amber eyes, but when he looked over at the witch she appeared thoroughly absorbed in her writing again. "It's pretty crazy, that's for sure," he finished lamely with a forced laugh.

 _'Nope,'_ he thought firmly as phantom teeth scraped over the back of his neck, and he brought his hand up to scratch over the spot. He pushed off of the window frame and chaffed his arms.

 

"I should probably go check on Kreacher," he said weakly, not really wanting to leave. "Make sure the Manor is still in one piece."

"Actually, we've made great headway so far," Hermione piped in, sitting up and pushing at a loose strand of hair across her brow. An inky fingerprint was left behind on her temple but the witch didn't notice. "It would probably be good for Harry to broach the topic with Tom and suss out if this will even work before we go much farther. Any idea on how to approach it?"

"I'm sure I'll manage," the raven said a little faintly.

Hermione's keen gaze surveyed him for a moment before she stood decisively and shuffled her supplies into a haphazard pile. "Well, come along then, boys, I'm starved."

"Foooood!" Ron crowed, rolling off the side of the bed.

 

 

 

Harry was cajoled into staying for supper, not that he tried particularly hard to resist. It was nice to be able to let everything go for a while, just enjoy the banter and camaraderie of a good old fashioned Weasley dinner. Eventually he was forced to make his goodbyes or risk being caught out waffling, and this time he purposely avoided getting caught alone with his best female friend.

 

Carefully ensuring that his cloak was properly dawned, Harry apparated just inside the gate of Riddle Manor and shuffled as slowly as he could up the long gravel lane.

His nerves churned in his belly as he pushed open the back door to the kitchen, but he took in a large bracing breath and firmed his resolve. He had lives to save, after all. This was all for a good cause.

"Kreacher's sees that his Master finally returns."

"Hey," Harry greeted, tucking his hands into denim pockets and rocking back on his heels. "How goes it? No trouble today?"

"Besides stuffing all of the food Kreacher slaved over into its nasty gullet, the prisoner sits at its desk all day long. Owls come and go, but they do not bother Kreacher, no," the elf croaked.

Harry glanced up at the ceiling with a frown on his face, wishing he knew a spell to see through walls. He wondered not for the first time how Moody came by his magical eye.

 

"Kreacher wonders if his Master is hungry, hmm?"

"Ah, no, I'm fine actually," he said, glancing back down at his ancient little house elf. "I only died once today...er, so far, anyways...and Fleur's been feeding me all day." When the wrinkly creature looked offended, he offered, "You know what, now that I think about it, I might actually need a snack after this." He gave a weak smile, shoulders slumping and dread mounting in regards to the upcoming encounter. "Wanna leave something in the fridge for me to reheat later if I need it?"

 _'Please let me not need it!'_ he howled on the inside.

"Kreacher will do as his Master commands," the elf said, already moving to put something together.

"Thanks." He watched Kreacher for a minute, stalling. "You going to be up for a while?" Harry asked offhandedly, voice laced with hopeful desperation.

"No."

And with uncharacteristic brevity the house elf shut the door to the fridge and waddled out of the room.

"Oi!" the raven called after him in dismay.

 

 

Harry mounted the steps and made his was to the study, hair already standing on end like a frightened cat. He listened at the door for a moment, hearing nothing. Before he could knock, a muffled voice called out to him. "Enter."

Harry snorted and took one step inside the room, ensuring the door remained wide open at his back.

The intimidating figure behind the desk glanced up as the raven entered, looking him up and down--gaze lingering on his feet for some unfathomable reason--before dark eyes returned to the stack of parchment in his hands.

"Harry," he drawled, flipping through the stack.

The back of Harry's neck prickled as he surveyed the other man. He had evidently trimmed his hair. It was cropped closer on the sides and back, longer strands forming a carelessly elegant wave on the top, swept back from his forehead. That wide jaw was clean, just a hint of shadow on his chin. He wondered where the man had gotten the simple black vest and crisp white shirt; definitely not Kreacher.

"Tom," he slowly returned, wary.

 

A moment passed where Voldemort ignored him entirely and Harry fidgeted, actively practicing a great deal of repression. 

"Look," he eventually said in exasperation, flinging his hands wide. "Can't we just come to some sort of deal?"

Tom didn't bother to respond in favor of pouring over an enormous yellowed tome atop the cluttered desk. Harry wondered where the desk had come from; he distinctly recalled the last one being blown to smithereens.

He took a step closer, palms clammy. "I'd really like to forge a truce with you, Tom. I'm so tired of fighting with you," he hedged diplomatically. "Everyone is tired of fighting. There are better ways. We need to talk about it."

Harry took another step forward, gaze flickering between Tom's downcast eyes and the book he was so absorbed in. There were several complex-looking diagrams--very suspicious, in the raven's opinion. He stood on his tip-toes and craned his neck out to get a better look.

_Snap!_

Harry jolted and stumbled back, pulse racing.

"Haven't you ever heard that curiosity killed the cat, Harry?" Tom rumbled silkily, palm resting casually on the leather cover of the text. Harry gulped. He liked it better when those dark depths weren't focused on him. His eyes flickered to the spine of the book, filing the title away for later.

"Perhaps you should consider giving up your obviously diabolical schemes then," he snarked in return, shuffling back a little so that he was standing in the doorway again. "It's not like I  _want_ to keep sticking my nose in your business."

"I find that hard to believe," the other man drawled, inking a quill and getting back to work.

 

"Ugh," Harry groaned, running a hand through his hair. "This is going nowhere. Look, this is what's going to happen," he snapped demandingly at his prisoner. "You are _going_ to make an Unbreakable Vow, or I  _going_ to have to kill you. Fair enough?"

Tom continued to  _scratch_ away with his quill.

Harry growled, hackles rising. "You're mortal now, Tom. I've destroyed all of your little trinkets and I won't let you make anymore. Be reasonable. Don't make me put you down," he sneered.

 

Scarlet flashed and was gone so quickly he might have imagined it if he didn't know any better.

"I've no interest in more horcruxes. It was a foolish boy's dream, one which you so kindly remedied for me. One is enough, which I already have." He smirked, still writing. "You are pathetically transparent, Harry."

 

A bead of sweat rolled down the raven's spine. How did he...?

"Oh?" Harry taunted, arching a mocking eyebrow. "And which one did I miss?" he fished.

 

Tom blotted the parchment he was working on and rolled it up. Leaning back, he folded his hands across his stomach and regarded the wizard before him from beneath lazy half-lids.

"An excellent question."

Harry fought not to squirm under that heavy gaze.

"Why don't you tell me, Harry? I have a feeling you know," the deep voice suggested with a dangerous edge.

"Hah," he scoffed. Another rolling drop of perspiration. Why was it always so hot in here? His eyes flickered to the cold empty grate and back. "As if I'd tell you."

"Hmm," Tom hummed contemplatively.

 

"It doesn't matter," Harry said after a tense moment, crossing his arms. "The point is that I have one and I can destroy it at any time. For instance, right before I destroy _you._

"We have a list of terms, a contract. I'm willing to negotiate with you, but this madness has to stop. No more genocide, no more--"

 

Abyssal depths flared a fiery crimson as they came to rest fixedly on Harry's brow while the young wizard was talking. Harry choked as the man unfurled from his repose.

 

"I see... You  _do_ have one, don't you,  _Harry_?"

The large form prowled around the desk. "I always wondered what it was about _you_ in particular, but now all of those pesky loose pieces just fit so nicely together, don't they?"

 

"Stop!" Harry shouted, holding out a hand and edging back out into the hallway. "Don't even think about coming any closer," he warned, lip curling back to bare his teeth. "You're not nearly so invulnerable as you think you are. I can get rid of it any time I want. I'll even do it right now if you force my hand."

The tip Death Stick rested under his chin. Emerald eyes blazed in a challenge.

Tom did halt, frozen for a moment before he leaned casually back against the desk.

"Is that so...?" he muttered, crimson orbs glittering with a disconcerting sort of calculation.

"Yes, it is," Harry said grimly, lips drawn into a firm line. "We will negotiate a binding magical contract. I'll keep your disgusting little horcrux safe and sound. All you have to do is sign it and agree to  _just fucking stop."_

 

 

Tom's relaxed form didn't move and he didn't utter a single sound, but Harry reeled back as through stung, back hitting the far wall in the hall.

It stretched slowly across that devilishly handsome face, dimples deepening and pink lips thinning, an insidious white grin.

Harry was ashamed to admit it but, pulse thundering, he turned tail and fled.

 

 

The door to his claimed bedroom  _slammed_ and the raven stumbled back, catching himself on the bed, an explosion of multi-hued spells rocketing from the end of his wand. He had the room locked down like a nuclear bunker within seconds. Letting his back slide down the wooden footboard, he clutched at his hammering chest.

"Oh dear sweet Merlin, Hermione was wrong. That was a terrible idea," he panted, wiping at his sweaty forehead with the back of a shaky hand. "I'm really, actually going to have to kill him now." A slightly maniacal laugh rang out, humorless.

 

"Shite," Harry muttered, finally managing to get a grip. He pulled his knees to his chest in the dark and rested his head on his folded arms.

How had the man guessed so easily? Hermione had warned him not to reveal the identity or location of the horcrux they were essentially holding hostage under any circumstances. Surely he hadn't given it away, even with all of his shoddy bluffing?

It was obvious now that the man was just as unhinged and lethal as he had been before Harry restored his soul. Voldemort had no intention of stopping anything. Harry had always known that it was a possibility, but the disappointment in how utterly  _wrong_ he had been was crushing. At least he had tried a nonviolent approach, right? He'd like to think that that was what Dumbledore would have wanted.

Worst of all, the raven had a horrible sinking feeling like nausea in the pit of his stomach that he had inadvertently created an even bigger and badder enemy for himself.

 

Having finished with the bulk of his pity party, Harry eventually hauled himself up and went into the en-suite for a bath, hoping it would soothe his frayed nerves. Instead, he sat in the water until it became tepid, ears strained for footsteps, jumping with every shift and _creak_ of the old house.

He considered going back to Shell Cottage for the night, telling Ron and Hermione that his plan was a miserable failure. He had even picked up his jeans rather than the pajamas Kreacher had left for him on the night stand. But then a niggling voice kicked in.

What if he should try again tomorrow? He absolutely _did_ feel like a coward, running away. Where was his Gryffindor courage and determination? Or, what if he just went to spend the night with his friends and when he got back in the morning Tom was gone? What if he made good on his threat and hurt Kreacher?

The doubts ate at him, but one thing was clear: he couldn't give up yet. Everyone was counting on him.

Tomorrow was a new day. He'd try again then.

Feeling slightly better about himself but still wracked with anxiety, Harry pulled on his sleep shorts, crawled into the bed, and extinguished his wand.

It was a very, very long time before sleep finally claimed him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A dip in the mattress caused the raven to stir sometime in wee hours of the night.

 

He blearily made to scrub at his eyes, but his arm appeared to be tangled in something, slung above his head. Harry pulled again, but there was barely any give. He squinted up through the darkness, not able to see anything but very much able to  _feel_. His heart plummeted to his stomach.

Harry's wrists were bound together above his head and appeared to be somehow attached to the headboard.

He let out a shakily breath and laid utterly still, not daring to make any sudden movements, a little dizzy as his nervous system went from fast asleep to hyperaware in seconds. The room was pitch black and silent. Nothing happened for a long minute where he scarcely dared to breath.

"Kreacher?" he whispered tentatively, mouth dry.

Still nothing.

 

A hulking shadow, darker than black, moved off to his left, causing the raven wizard to jolt. The mattress dipped again and a radiating heat settled next to his hip.

"I don't think your elf cares to meddle in these sorts of affairs," a voice like rolling thunder uttered softly, but in the deathly quiet of the pre-dawn hours it was deafening to Harry's ears.

He licked his chapped lips, trying and failing for authoritative. "Cut it out, Tom. This isn't funny." Of course it wasn't. There wasn't any amusement in the Dark Lord's voice either.

 

 

"Harry, Harry, _Harry_..." the man enunciated in a dangerously peculiar tone after another moment of suffocating silence. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

There was a shift, Harry's body jostling where he lay, and that heat intensified, spreading along his side. The shadow shrank and settled, a glint of crimson a little above and to the left of his face.

 

 

The raven sucked in a shuddering breath as the _other_ drew too close and clenched his fist. In the ethereal flash of gold that dimly lit up Harry's chest, he caught a lightning-quick snapshot of his enemy.

There was a chiseled jaw resting on an elegantly masculine fist, a long thick toned column of tawny flesh tapering into heavy collarbones. Hooded eyes with smoldering bloody depths stared down at him, causing the young wizard's blood to freeze.

"Relash-"

The Elder Wand was ripped from his grasp just as the little burst of golden light faded back into blackness. There was a cut-off  _clatter;_  the weapon disappeared as it struck the floor.

 

 

"There is a part of me," that fathomless voice mused, and Harry felt a fine tremor begin to wrack his limbs. "A rather _large_ part, if I'm honest, that feels it would be easier just to lock you up and be done with it."

Another flash of gold, another flashbulb moment, the same scene. The thin stick of elder wood was plucked easily from his sweaty palm before he could utter a spell.

 

There were three more dim strobe flashes as Harry called his wand repeatedly, panic rising. Each flash, like a camera shutter, showed a different scene.

 _Flash._ Voldemort lounged at his side, one hand braced on the mattress below him, muscular shoulders twisted with motion; an action shot. _Clatter!_

 _Flash._ The man's bulging bicep was stretched over the raven's head, and he felt unnaturally warm fingers brushing against his own.  _Ping!_

 _Flash._ That shadowed visage appeared inches from his own face, a mask of impassivity, glowing embers for eyes.  _SNAP!_

The Death Stick emitted a startlingly loud _crack_ as it broke in Harry's hand, Tom's iron fist clamped over his own so tight he worried his fingers might snap as well. The useless pieces of wood soon dissolved into nothingness in their combined grasp.

As an immovable mass crouched astride him, not actually making physical contact except for their joined hands, the raven felt suffocated. He could barely hear for all that his heart thundered in his ears.

 

 

"How much simpler things would be if you weren't a thorn in my side," the man continued as though without interruption.

A hot breath caressed Harry's cheekbone.

"I should put you to sleep, boy." A moment later that intolerable puff of scalding air moved down to the corner of his trembling mouth. "An enchanted eternal slumber. I could just lock you in a box and sink you in the ocean."

Soft lips drifted down underneath his jaw, still not touching, the words spoken into his neck like a brand. "No one would ever find you."

A ragged breath tore itself from Harry's chest. He desperately called to the Wand of Destiny, but the tattoo on his chest stayed dark, hands crushed in the other man's grasp.

 

"Or I could rip out your cheeky little tongue. Cut off your hands." He jumped. Rough digits pressed gently against his throat, an electric prickling shooting through Harry's veins at the unanticipated touch. His Adam's apple rose and fell against a wide hot palm.

"That one doesn't seem very imaginative though. Perhaps I'd slip you some Amortentia instead, turn you into a mindless slave like my own miserable father." The pressure on his esophagus tightened slightly for a brief moment before easing again, fingers caressing lower with mock-tenderness. "I'd keep you in a tower like a princess. There's a vacancy in Nurmengard, I've heard."

 

 

Bile burned its way up Harry's throat. "Stop," he croaked.

 

 

"How easily I could shut you away, make it so you'd never die... You would never be able dig out that sliver of me that's buried deep inside you. Your power would sustain me for an eternity," Voldemort purred huskily, and those white-hot lips finally pressed against the raven's sternum, just over his heart.

"Ah!" Harry gasped with a jerk, immediately  _clacking_ his teeth shut with a wave of burning humiliation. He was too over-stimulated, senses overloaded and out of control. Tom huffed out an almost-laugh.

"I should. I _should_ ," the other man murmured to himself in a gravelly voice before the edge of a sharp tooth scraped against Harry's ribcage. His flesh broke out in goose-pimples.

 

 

"But then there's another little piece of me that wonders if perhaps that would be folly, going down the same flawed path a second time."

 

 

Harry squeaked in alarm as his hips were hoisted abruptly off the bed. A dominating hand clamped under one knee, yanking him down the bed, arms taut above his head. All breath left his chest as he was bent in half, shoulders braced against the mattress. Flesh aligned with suddenly naked flesh, a shockingly overwhelming full-body contact that inspired struggle anew.

"G'roff me, fuckface!" he snarled, rage breaking through the panic, twisting and squirming to no avail. ' _Wand, wand, wand!'_ he thought desperately, but the other man's grip doubled on his own, Harry's knuckles  _cracking_ with the force of it.

"I said... _G_ _et. The. Fuck. OFF!"_ The raven drove a wrathful knee into Tom's firm torso but there was no effect. The hand under his leg shifted, tightened, pushed, and the next thing Harry knew his knees touched his shoulders. "Kkk," he choked, no leverage with which to draw breath, let alone move.

 

 

 

"Hush," the Dark Lord rumbled, and the scratchy beginnings of stubble brushed along the inside of Harry's leg, just above the knee, before punishing teeth sunk into him.

"Nnnnnnngh!"

Harry's head swam. He panted shallowly as the jaws relented, and that haunting voice in the dark continued, a low croon. "Steel must be tempered by both fire and water, or else it shatters, does it not? Perhaps I must allow you to remain as a piece of my conscience as well as my soul..."

Next came a brief stinging nip mid-thigh, and with it a foreign sensation like a coiling spring began to curl in the raven's gut.

"What a vexing creature you are, Harry Potter. How can I expect to triumph with a piece of myself missing?"

 

Attention strained toward what was happening below, Harry did not register the pressure gradually easing from his hands.

 

 

Another scrape of incisors, a psuedo-bite, on his shaking inner thigh caused Harry to gasp again, mind spinning. Little hairs like sandpaper chaffed the tender flesh at the junction of his pelvis.

"It  _calls_ to me, you see," and a hand, not the one under his knee, smoothed across Harry's chest, a blunt nail catching on a pebbled nipple.

"Nn _nnnn_!" a pitchy whimper escaped, borne from deep within his chest rather than on his lips. The raven's thigh muscles spasmed reflexively but could not close, obstructed. One of his legs was braced against Tom's side, pushing fruitlessly against him, and the other was captured, hooked over the man's shoulder.

"It  _aches_ ," the man continued in a growl, lips pressed against thin delicate flesh. That wide all-compassing hand spread across Harry's clenched stomach, following the thin trail of coarse hairs trailing from Harry's navel. "Deep down, when I touch you. Salazar, when I even  _look_ at you."

A rough knuckle brushed against Harry's turgid member.

 

 

Avada eyes snapped wide open, unseeing in the dark. There was no way...

 

 

The hypnotic spell the other man had weaved over him snapped like elastic stretched too thin.

"Gyah!" he grunted, face smashed into his own chest, and bucked for all he was worth. The knobby length of the Death Stick materialized in his grasp as another golden image flashed too-bright in front of his eyes, blinding.

A dark god bent over him, rippling torso between his spread thighs. The indomitable presence was like a subjugating force, crushing him. Midnight tresses hung over a shadowed brow and scarlet crescents slivered around devouring pupils like voids.

The Devil come to drag him down.

 

The darkness opened its gaping maw and swallowed the Chosen One whole, that searing sinful mouth descending on his semi-erect length.

 

Shock had initially delayed the raven's reaction, and now the Death Stick slipped unaware from slackened fingertips.

" _Ah! Nnnngh! Ahhhnn!_ "

Emerald eyes rolled back as that terrible, perfect suction rocked the foundation of his entire world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

" _Mmm_ ," Tom groaned around the silky flesh as it grew more substantial against his tongue with every passing moment, the vibration in his throat making the raven's thighs spasm against him even harder.

The larger man pulled off long enough to make a handful of toothy indentations in the smaller man's flesh before the flat of his tongue returned to trace over the swollen organ. He wished he had though to provide a light source; he'd have loved to feast his eyes on the miles pale flawless skin before him, catalog each and every portion of the boy's anatomy that flushed pink.

After another minute he trailed lower, supple bollocks contracting close to the raven's body as Tom's decadent tongue teased over them on his way to his prize.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry was losing it, he knew it dimly somewhere in the back of his mind, but the explosion of raw  _sensation_ crashed over him like a wave and stifled any voice of reason shouting warnings within him. Conscious thought ebbed as the tide went out, and the ripple of magic over him didn't even register.

"Ugggghhhh!" he groaned deep in his throat as molten heat laved between his cheeks.

His back slid incrementally up the mattress as the man bared down on him, unfolding slightly. Internal muscles clenched and released rhythmically around the sopping intrusion as the raven sucked great hitching breaths and squirmed beneath the other man's ministrations. Frantic fingernails scrabbled against broad shoulders, caught in dark locks.

 

 

 

 

 

"Aaaah," Tom moaned, goaded beyond reason by the sounds and movements below him, and tore his face away from his task. With a singular swift movement he had the smaller man flipped onto his knees before him.

 

 

 

 

 

"Mmff!" Harry protested as the world spun rapidly and his face smooshed into rumpled fabric.

Tom pressed himself along Harry's backside, a terrifying hardness nudging between his buttocks. Whitewashed panic clouded his vision, piercing the haze in his mind but not the unstoppable tension brewing low in his abdomen.

"STOP!" he cried, flailing an arm behind him. It connected with a sharp  _smack,_ fingernails digging in savagely to leave bloody crescents on a rock-hard pectoral.

Throwing himself to the right, Harry's hips shifted enough that he could turn his torso, wand coming up out of nowhere like a spear.

"Avada-"

A large hand knocked the length of elder away in a flash of golden light.

The other man pressed down on him with his surreal body mass, smothering. Harry aimed a cramped punch over top of his other arm but his knuckles barely grazed over a wide rough jaw.

He lay trapped and panting beneath the Dark Lord, fuzzy around the edges and tapped of all strength.

 

 

 

 

 

"Christ," Tom huffed delightedly, a low chuckle. His forehead rested on the other man's shoulder blade for a moment, passively pinning him to the mattress. Two breaths sounded in the resulting stillness, one much faster and shallower than the other.

A brief scuffle--no trouble at all, really, for the larger man--and the raven was once again on his stomach, back bowed and arse in the air.

 

 

 

 

 

One hot enormous palm held the scruff of his neck in an iron grip, pushing his head down unrelentingly into the firm bed. Velvet-sheathed steel pressed against his puckered entrance, pressure mounting, fear climbing to a fever pitch. An echoing sob broke forth from the raven.

 

 

 

 

" _Please!_ "

 

 

 

 

 

Tom gritted his teeth, wavering. Elation at that desperate little plea fueled his growing impatience and bolstered the electric coil of arousal glowing in his gut. But it was so  _plaintive,_ wrecked and needy in a way that made him want to cease and never cease all at the same time. What was this pathetic wisp of a boy doing to him?

 

"Fuck," he hissed, letting his engorged cock slip from the raven's crevice.

He took a moment to gather what frayed tethers to his self-control he could, the body beneath him quaking and fisting the sheets all the while, before he smooth a hand up the raven's back.

"Say it again," he commanded, scoring his fingernails over the tense muscles on the way back down.

 

The pale shadowed form below frantically shook it's head.

 

Tom stretched out over the younger wizard, braced on his knees. He pressed his face into the crook of a delectably slim throat and pulled just a tiny fraction of his magic into his right hand. Warm lubricated fingers slipped around the raven's hip, wrapping around the still semi-erect length he found there.

 

"Nn _nnn_ ," Harry trilled in a hoarse whine. "Stop!"

 

The younger wizard shrunk away from the demanding palm squeezing up and down his shaft, incidentally grinding that pert little arse right against Tom's desperately needy cock. He distractedly wondered, a burst of stars behind his eyes, if it was possible for his bollocks to explode, so tightly wound was he.

 

"Shite," he growled, speeding up his fist. The boy,  _his boy_ , was soon gasping and shaking apart in his hands, member stiff and twitching once more. " _Say it._ "

" _No!_ " the young wizard cried out, and he'd be damned if he didn't hear a note of petulance in that reedy voice. A smirk lifted the corner of his lips.

Another pull on his core and magic bathed his left hand as well, leaving a viscous sheen of slick in its wake. He reached back and pressed firmly at the invitingly warm ring of muscle.

 

"Ah!" the raven gasped, head thrown back.

Tom took the proffered invitation, opened wide, and bit into the place where neck met shoulder.

"Nyyyahhhh!" The wavering howl that cut through the air worked him into a frenzy. Harry's spine arched, limbs locked, grinding his whole back up into Tom's abdomen.

The older wizard fought himself to keep steady pressure on the muscle clamped between his jaws; how easy it would be to lose control and utterly _destroy_ his little horcrux. Yes, he wanted to eat the boy alive, but literally was a bit much even for him.

He released the already bruising flesh, a thin thread of saliva still connecting them. The body beneath him seemed to melt, breath coming in shallow ragged sobs.

 

He rubbed in a circular motion with his left hand, waiting for that glorious little bud to bloom for him, before dipping two fingers inside that beautiful silky tunnel up to the first knuckle. His right hand continued to pump endlessly around the boy's weeping cock the whole time.

It was a tricky maneuver, requiring more concentration, balance, and coordination than he'd anticipated. His arms worked relentlessly, and it was frankly more effort than he'd really like to exert, but the end result was priceless.

Tom muzzled his face into the raven's ear, lips pulling up into a small white-toothed smile. "You win, my little snake. I'll make your ridiculous Vow." Sweat began to condense on his brow. "Now come on, Harry, and say it for me," he purred encouragingly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry dimly registered a voice speaking to him but could hardly comprehend the words. There was a ringing in his ears and his consciousness floated away, bound only to his body by the plasmic surges of... _something_  pulsing through his nervous system.

That girthy yet shallow intrusion retreated and he whined again, mindless. It tormented him, barely penetrating, not enough to clench around.

The hot wet tight pressure enveloping his cock drove him just shy of the edge, pistoning his hips reflexively. Magma pooled his gut, but he needed... He needed...

 

Blunt fingers glided in a few centimeters--

_Just a little more!_

_\--_ and promptly left him empty once more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

" _PLEASE!"_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tom's clenched eyes sprung wide open, breath leaving him entirely. He was still for one brief moment, but the broken sob from the body below him hit him like a blow to the gut.

An infernal flame lit his wondering gaze from within, and he launched back into motion with a snarl.

 

Hauling the boy up, they knelt together atop damp twisted sheets. Harry collapsed with his back pressed against Tom's chest, head lolling onto the larger man's shoulder. One deft hand blurred over the raven's front while a muscular forearm hammered into him from behind, each drive home jolting the boy's boneless form.

" _Yessss! That's it, my good boy_ ," Tom hissed, unwittingly reverting to the serpent's tongue in his fervor. He whispered into the raven's ear, crimson eyes roving, transfixed, _"Come on, now."_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry swam, lost, in a sea of blackness. His body was on  _fire_ , blood surely boiling. It was  _agony_ , perched on the precipice as he was. He could only writhe and mewl, searching out  _more--_ chasing _relief_. He sobbed without realizing it, salty droplets a constellation on his lashes.

But then those two fingers mercifully impaled him, throwing him head first onto the knife's edge of pleasure and pain, and his entire being  _tipped_...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The body in his arms suddenly seized, muscles clamping down near strong enough to break his fingers, abdomen jumping wildly beneath the skin.

"Kkk," the boy choked breathlessly, eyes wide and glazed and unseeing. Blunt nails found the older man's thigh, dug in.

"Oh fuck," Tom groaned, enraptured, as warm spunk spilled over his knuckles.

 

Any restraint he had gathered shattered like glass into a million pieces.

 

One bracing forearm around the raven's waist and Tom was able to shuffled them forward on his knees the little bit it took for Harry's chest to press up against the headboard.

He fumbled with his aching cock, cursing as he slipped passed the slick opening. Lining himself up, the Dark Lord dove into that unbearable scalding heat and laid waste to the man in his arms.

The wooden headboard splintered in his one-handed grip, the entire bed slamming into the wall with a  _crashing_ cacophony. He spilled with a fearsome echoing roar.

 

 

 

 

Were someone ever to find out, he would be forced to violently murder them.

He looked down at the insensate little nymph in his arms as he panted harshly, barrel chest heaving, relieved to save face.

He'd rather  _die_ than admit it, which was saying quite a lot coming from him, but the truth remained that Lord Voldemort blew his load after only seven short--but long, god, it felt like an eternity of euphoria--seconds.

 

 

 

 

Tom collapsed with a bone-weary groan, lashes fluttering, mop of raven hair tucked under an arm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Pain, You Break Me Down, You Build Me Up a Believer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere apologies for the lengthy wait on this one. I'm still not thrilled with portions of this chapter, but at this point I've fiddled with it for so long that I don't even know up from down anymore. This is why a beta would be so lovely--another set of eyes to put things into perspective.
> 
> Thank you all for your continuing support and enjoy!

_First things first I'ma say all the words inside my head,_

_I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been._

_I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my seas._

  _You're the face of the future, the blood in my veins._

_Falling like ashes to the ground,_

_Hoping my feelings they would drown,_

_But they never did._

_Seeing the beauty through the pain, oh!_

 "Believer" Imagine Dragons

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Ugh..."

Surfacing from unconsciousness was an arduous undertaking. Dark brows scrunched together and long inky lashes fluttered. Ethereal emerald discs emerged slowly, blinking away fuzzy edges.

Harry pushed lethargically against the mattress, attempting to rise, but found that he was caged in by a lead weight. Glancing down at the burnished flesh draped over his torso--bulging bicep met veiny forearm met shapely wrist and long thick fingers--he frowned.

He craned his aching neck back over his shoulder. It immediately whipped back to face forward again with a series of vertebral  _cracks._

Eyes bulging in their sockets, he silently mouthed, " _Oh fuck."_

Lying stone still for the few moments it took for his shorted brain to stop spinning, the raven bit his lip and started inching away incrementally.

 

"Go back to sleep..."

 

The husky words spoken near his ear made Harry freeze, paralyzed. The longest minute of his life passed, wound tight as a trip wire, before the breath against the back of his neck returned to a deep steady rhythm.

He gripped the sheets with his free arm and slowly pulled himself toward the edge of the bed.

 

That lax limb flexed and the raven slid back, crushed against a hard hot body.

 

"Stop it."

 

Regardless of the stress mounting within him, Harry couldn't help the indignant snort that escaped. He wasn't aware that word existed in the other man's vocabulary.

"Let go," he said, low and even.

The other man didn't reply. That arm remained clamped around his waist, pinning his right arm to his side.

Harry remained still for another moment, casting about for an escape plan.

A knobbly length of wood nestled into his left palm. Holding his breath, the young wizard slowly bent his elbow, the tip of his wand aiming just over his trapped arm.

 

"Pest," that scratchy baritone rumbled. A steely grip crushed his fingers as the body behind him rolled sluggishly, sprawling half on top of the smaller form. "'S too early."

 

The raven wizard found himself smooshed below a mammoth body, arms twisted up like a pretzel beneath him, wand firmly directed at the ceiling. "G'roff," he demanded, a little breathlessly. The other man seemed to weigh a solid tonne. Angled mostly on his side with a toned leg thrown over his own, there was no leverage with which to move.

He was once again ignored. Harry growled, annoyance distracting him from his hummingbird pulse.

Squirming about a bit, Harry suddenly went stiff as a board when something twitched against his spine.

 

Red hot blood flooded his cheeks. There was currently a very naked, very immoral man laying on top of him. His stomach clenched with a strange sort of tension and he had to choke back the involuntary whine that rose in his throat. Their bare skin pressed flushed together, vivid flashbacks of the previous night raced unbidden behind his eyes.

Searing touches. A devilish mouth. His very insides invaded, scraped out. Pain, oh the pain... But the  _pleasure;_ it burned out his marrow and rearranged him on a molecular level.

His chest hitched.

And then the threats, those sinister possibilities that inspired a terror the likes of which he had never experienced. Oh gods, he had  _begged._

"Kkk," he choked.

 

And then anger suddenly exploded inside the raven like a detonating bomb.

 

"You piece of shite," he snarled. Rage filled him with sudden vigor and he jerked an arm back. It sprung free and a sharp elbow drove into the other man's side. There was a grunt from behind him. "You think you can just do whatever the fuck you want," Harry seethed, going for another elbow jab; Tom contracted his muscles, absorbing the impact. "Well I'm sick of it!"

He kicked and hissed and spat, forgetting about his wand entirely in his primal drive to just  _hurt back._ Harry would let himself be blinded by fear  _ _no longer!__ Two could play at this game; he was no whipped dog, after all _._

He threw his head backward, exceptionally thick skull colliding with Tom's chin. He twisted and tugged his trapped hand until it was free, digging wrathful talons into Tom's arm. " _I. Am. Not. Your. TOY!"_ And with that howling battle cry he sunk his teeth into a meaty wrist.

"Fuck," Tom hissed, definitely awake now. Stifling weight withdrew just enough that Harry was able to squirm, twist, roll.

 

Between one second and the next Harry found himself straddling the larger man, fist balled and drawn back.

 

_Thwack!_

 

A numb sort of pain lanced through his knuckles and up his wrist, but he wound back again anyways, barely feeling it.

 

_Thwack!_

 

His fist cocked back a third time, but the absurd sight before him made him pause.

Tom threw back his head and  _laughed._ Cheeks split wide, perfectly even white teeth stained red. It was perhaps the most genuine sound that he'd ever heard from the man.

What the...?

 

Faster than he could blink Harry was flat on his back, that hulking mass hovering over him again. He bared his teeth, snapping, "You perverted son of a--"

The raven was cut short as the other man thumbed a smear of blood from the corner of his lips and promptly stuffed the carmine digit into Harry's open mouth.

"Ahh-blerrrgh!" Harry yelped, swatting the offending hand away. "Why are you so fucking sick? What the fuck is wrong with--OOF!"

 

As Tom allowed his body to simply collapse atop the smaller man, Harry was knocked breathless, entirely squished.

"My boy, such a gem," the larger wizard drawled, humor-laced and slightly muffled by the way his scratchy cheek was smooshed lazily against Harry's chest.

"Crazy bastard," Harry accused in a wheeze, wriggling his arms free. He drove his fingers into the older man's mussed hair and pulled as hard as he could. Tom's head lifted with the force of it, hooded gaze dark and amused. "Just give up already, I'll never let you win--"

 

Another image hit the raven suddenly, a deep seductive voice whispering in his ear.  _'You win, my little snake.'_

 

"Oh!" His mouth formed a perfect circle, stunned. "Wait, did you agree to the contract?"

 

Tom gave him a sly look from under heavy lids, head still wrenched back, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "No shame in not remembering. After all, you _were_ out of your mind with--"

"Shut up," Harry snapped, yanking meanly. "Why would you say yes? Just like that? I don't believe you."

A large hand reached up and pried the smaller fingers away. A bony chin rest on Harry's sternum, digging in and making him wiggle uncomfortably. "I said yes to negotiating with you, coming to an agreement, as you said."

Harry scowled, momentarily forgetting about his predicament in favor of arguing. "I'm not going to let you get away killing people or trying to take over the world or whatever. Not much to negotiate, really. And if you think I am in anyway a part of this, I can tell you right now, you are dead wrong. All I agreed to do is--Mmmf!"

A heavy hand descended over his mouth.

 

"Do you ever stop talking?" Tom muttered rhetorically, flopping his head down again.

Harry glared at the top of the man's head and reached down, pinching him viciously on the sensitive skin near his armpit. The resulting jolt and hiss was  _immensely_ satisfying, even as Tom's palm ripped away from his mouth to pin his hands to either side of his head instead.

"Such cheek," Tom huffed, and then rolled his hips in a single smooth grind.

 

Hard flesh contacted hard flesh, and emerald eyes bulged.

"I think you're not entirely honest with yourself, _Harry_ ," the man purred, punctuating the observation with another rolling slide. Harry gasped as sensation rolled through him like an earthquake.

 

"T-that's--I-" the raven choked out, flushing a bright scarlet from the top of his head all the way to his chest. "It's not--it's a biological reaction!" he squeaked, beyond mortification. He pushed and pulled at his wrists but there was no give.

"I'm sure you'd just love to think that, wouldn't you?" Tom shifted up so that he was no longer crushing the smaller man, hips bracketed between Harry's own. He ground down again, eyes riveted between their bodies.

"Ah!" Harry bit his lip and shook his head in denial. "N-no, you psycho! It's completely involuntary, makes me want to vomit even. I'm a  _bloke--"_

"That certainly hasn't stopped us yet," the other man drawled, licking his bottom lip lasciviously.

 _"I keep telling you to stop!_  I thought you just agreed not to be evil--"

 

 

 

Harry could only blink stupidly for a moment as a hot mouth covered his own. Soft yet firm lips pressed against him demandingly, posessively. A molten tongue slipped forth, running along the seam. When Tom gave another particularly filthy grind Harry gasped again, and that tongue slithered inside. The man's cheeks were like sandpaper against his own smooth skin.

He felt dizzy, disoriented. His brain simply could not process the fact that _Lord Voldemort_ was  _kissing_ him. It just didn't make any sense. And this wasn't like any kiss he'd had before, no; it made what he'd done with Ginny and Cho Chang seem like chaste motherly pecks from Molly Weasley. Wet was certainly the right adjective though. This...this was like drowning.

The raven mentally shook himself and bit down on the tongue tangling with his own.

 

Tom pulled back with an obscene smirk, lips pink and shiny. Harry used to the opportunity to continue his tirade of denial. "You're deluded if you think I like any of this," he panted, hips squirming below the other man and abdomen clenching with each sinful slide of their turgid shafts together. "I hate you, you nasty--"

 

The raven jerked his head to the side and clamped his lips shut as that sly tongue darted out and left a broad trail of saliva across his mouth.

"Arggh, why are you so gross?" Harry groaned into his own shoulder.

 

"Lie to yourself all you want, Harry, but your pretty little cock tells me a different story," the man above him smirked. Harry fought against the hands clamped around his wrists. He wanted nothing more than to shut Tom's filthy, stupid face for him. His cheeks burned so hot he thought he might actually catch on fire. And it was not little! Or pretty! It was very manly, thank you very much.

"Gods, shut the fuck up!"

That tongue traced up his cheek, lips burning against him as they moved. "You like the brutality, the thrill of it, don't you?"

"No!"

 

Tom let go of one of Harry's wrists, large rough fingers running along the raven's ribcage. Harry immediately threaded his fingers back into those silky tresses, fingernails scoring blood on the back of the man's scalp. The larger man pressed his face into a long pale throat and then dug a thick sharp knuckle into a specific point between wiry oblique muscles.

 

" _Aahhyynnnn_!" Harry ground his head back into the pillow and let out a series of embarrassing noises that didn't register in his own ringing ears.

"Ah!" It was like getting struck by lightening, the way that the dull yet acute pain radiated through his nervous system from that one central cluster. It was like getting hit with a mild version the Cruciatus, but a different sort of agony.  "Ahnnn!" It scoured through him, hallowed him out, and all Harry could do was buck and writhe against the larger man. His fingers slipped down, gripping the back of a muscular neck for support. He didn't hear Tom's answering groan.

That knuckle lifted, shifted, and Harry panted dizzily in the reprieve. But then it pressed in again, between their bodies, on another spot in the lower inner crease of his hip.

" _Nnnnnngggh_!" The pressure point burned like a white-hot coal. His mind blanked and his cock dribbled pre-come as he cried out. His back arched so very high as every muscle in his body tensed, pressing up into the other man.

 

 

 

 

 

"Fuck," Tom cursed again, a little hoarse.

The large man reared back on his knees and grabbed a slim ankle, jerking the raven down the mattress and nestling that delectable little arse flush against his swollen cock. He fisted himself a few times and then shifted his pelvis down, lining up.

 

 

 

 

 

That overwhelming ache at the crux of his thigh relented and Harry blinked dazedly as the ceiling moved above him. As the other man shifted, his overbearing presence receeding slightly, emerald eyes traveled down and widened.

A massive fist slid obscenely over an even more enormous prick.

A smothering wash of panic swooped through his veins as Tom shifted his weight and that hot raging  _monster_ rested against his crevice.

 

 

The spell was out of his mouth before the Death Stick had even fully materialize in his grasp.

"Stupefy!"

He threw his body to the left, rolling off of the bed and landing cat-like on his feet. Harry scrambled to the other side of the room as he activated his invisibility. He pressed himself against the far wall, pulse hammering and horrified.

 

Tom still knelt on the bed, blinking rapidly and shaking his head, shrugging off the powerful stunner. After a moment his head tilted to the side, clever gaze flashing crimson briefly as it came to rest on Harry's location. Harry gulped.

"If you've been wondering where Nagini went, you ought to check your trousers!" he yelped and disapparated with a  _pop_.

 

 

 

Harry reappeared with a  _crack_ on a seaside cliff. "Whew!" he huffed, rubbing his ribs where he could almost still feel phantom fingers digging in, but there was no lingering pain. A cold chill wracked his frame as he thought about what had nearly just occurred.

There was  _no way;_ that  _thing_  would have cleaved him in half! His arse clenched reflexively and he yipped again as the sore muscles reminded him that it was, in fact, very much possible.

"No, no, no!" he moaned miserably as his lingering erection twitched in response.

He didn't like it, he didn't! He hated it, actually. And he hated Tom! The man had murdered his parents, left him to a life of neglect and loneliness. There was no way that Voldemort and his twisted games caused this sort of reaction. No, it was normal for a teenage boy to be sensitive to any sort of external stimulation. It had nothing to do with Harry; it was all Tom's fault, that demon.

 

"Ugh," he groaned, tilting his head back and trying to think of unpleasant things to make his stiffy go away. Vernon in a speedo, Crabbe and Golye snogging, bubotuber pus, Moaning Myrtle floating in a clogged toilet, Blast-Ended Screwts...

Nothing worked. There was maybe a slight wilting at most. Now he just felt nauseous  _and_ aroused; a terrible, terrible combination.

"Arrghh!" he shouted in frustration. "Kreacher!"

 

_Crack!_

 

"Kreacher's heathen Master is running about naked again. Kreacher is hoping his Master is wanting clothes."

"Yes," Harry snapped, seething at himself. "Please."

The little elf _snapped_ his spindly fingers together and a stack of clothing hovered in front of the raven. They were far enough down the path that the cottage wasn't in view, so Harry simply dropped his invisibility and snagged the pair of jeans.

Kreacher eyed his groin with immense distaste before he turned around and crossed his scrawny little arms.

 

"Master did not want Kreacher's cooking yesterday, no, not even after Kreacher spent all day laboring over it especially for his Master. Poor Kreacher gets no recognition or respect from his ungracious raggamuffin--"

"It's nothing personal, Kreacher," Harry cut in through gritted teeth. He attempted to tuck his swollen organ into the waistband of his briefs and zip up his trousers but it was incredibly uncomfortable. He readjusted and tried again. "I _told_ you that I already had supper at the cottage. I can't help that I was stuffed."

The house elf curled his lip and sent a curdling sneer over his bony shoulder. "Oh, Kreacher is well aware of his nasty Master being stuffed, and Kreacher does not want to hear about it, no, vile romping makes Kreacher's ears bleed. Poor Kreacher had to sleep in the garden shed last night, he did, so that Kreacher did not have to listen to his Master's mating shrieks--"

"Stop! Stop it!" Harry really wanted to throttle his elf. Maybe it would make him feel better about the shambling state his life was in. "You can shut your gob right now, you little shite."

He blew out a supreme huff of agitation. This wasn't going to work. "How about robes for today?"

 

Huge bulbous eyes swiveled toward the raven. "If Master is wanting to be a proper wizard, Kreacher will help him, yes!" Ears flapped as the elf nodded gleefully, rubbing his gnarled hands together.

_Snap!_

Harry jolted as denim disappeared to be replaced by only a cool salty breeze. An ostentatious black robe hung in the air before him; the waistcoat was a silk brocade and it was hemmed in green with polished silver fastenings.

After a few moments of increasingly hostile arguing, Harry relented and shrugged on the garment sans any silk. Kreacher sniffed indignantly but for the most part appeared pleased with his victory. Harry fiddled with the front, grateful that it at least concealed his problem.

 

"Right," he said, glacing at the pillar of winding chimney smoke against the cloudy grey sky. "I'll be out for a while today too. You know the drill: report any suspicious behavior to me and just go about doing...whatever you normally do. Fleur will probably feed me again, so please don't be offended. It's really not a competition."

The elf glared in the direction of the house as though trying to fry the offensive quarter-Veela with his laser beams. The disapparating  _pop_ definitelyhad petulant ring to it.

 

Harry made his way up the winding loamy incline toward the cottage, grumbling all the while. Now that he wasn't distracted, his mind catalogued all of the wrongs in his body.

There was a fierce ache in his shoulder that throbbed any time he moved his neck. There were red marks around both wrists that didn't smart but made him fervently thankful for his long sleeves nonetheless. And his arse, Merlin! It was impossible now to ignore the dull resontating burn with every tiny movement. Paradoxically, every stinging twitch sent sparks of electricity into his belly, fueling his wretchedly stubborn hard-on.

He stomped up the garden path and rapped on the front door, scowl fixed unconsciously in place.

 

There were rapid thudding footsteps before the door was wrenched wide. "Harry! Come on in, mate," Ron chirped, clapping the raven on the shoulder as he passed. Harry winced and forced a smile for the sake of his friend. "Oi, what'sa matter?" The redhead lowered his voice, countenance serious. "It's a no go then?"

"Is that Harry? Oh my, bad news I see," Hermione said worriedly, joining the pair in the entryway.

"Well, not exactly. He said yes," Harry whispered, eyebrows drawn.

"Yes!" Ron hissed, pumping a fist into the air. When he noticed that the other two thirds of the trio weren't celebrating, his features fell. "Wait, I thought that's what we wanted to happen?"

"Is zat 'Arry?" a melodic voice called from the kitchen.

"Come on, we're in the middle of breakfast. Let's eat and then we'll go upstairs and talk," Hermione said, ushering her boys further into the house.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tom huffed, dipping a shoulder and rolling his body back into a blessedly prone position. He scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing at his swollen jaw; the steel rod between his legs bobbed excitedly in response. He stretched his legs, luxuriating in the feel of soft linen sheets, and allowed his mind to wander.

That little imp... 

His hand drifted downward, lazily palming his insistent erection as he resumed work on the unabated length. After a few moments he gripped the shaft firmly in his fist, he stroked languidly at first. Images of milky skin and messy blue-black tresses flashed behind his closed lids. That fascinating magic-imbued tattoo on the boy's chest, and how it illuminated those glorious features the previous night. His motions grew quicker, bed swaying just a little, as he recalled Harry's wrecked visage; pupils blown, brows pinched, bottom lip bitten red.

"Ahh," he sighed in satisfaction, fist a blur. The way his boy had frotted up into the pain this morning, lost to the double-edged combination of duelling sensations...

This thighs tensed as his cock pulsed against his palm but he kept stroking, slowly now, rivulets of ejaculate slicking the way. He had barely softened at all.

After a few minutes though, the other needs of his mortal flesh became too demanding, and he heaved himself out of bed with a sigh. He'd have liked to jack off again and then doze for a bit longer--it seemed that he was becoming quite the hedonist--but both his bladder and stomach nagged him into action. That and the fact that he had so very much to do.

 

Meandering into the en suite washroom, he braced one hand on the wall over the toilet and hissed. Pissing through a hard-on wasn't the most pleasant business, and one he hadn't experienced in many decades. Still, as annoying as his new body was, it had its perks.

Scratching absentmindly at his jaw, Tom regarded himself in the mirror. At least his new form was suitable for his purposes. His previous serpentine countenance was intimidating, yes, but it lacked the versatility that this more human one had.

A few flicks of his yew wand took care of any hygiene requirements, and then he smirked.

 

"Elf."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry was pissed.

 

He'd excused himself to the bathroom before breakfast to relieve his complaining bladder, and had consequently discovered supremely aggravating evidence of his recent interactions with the Dark Lord.

A tentative exploration of his aching arse ended with slimy milky-pink fluid on his fingertips, the longest and most thorough hand-washing of his entire life, and a  _very_ uncomfortable scouring charm. He'd have healed himself if he knew how, but he didn't, and he didn't much fancy pointing his wand at his anus to try anything else.

He didn't bother with the minor bruising scattered across his thighs and torso, but did attempt an Episky on the savage bite wound on his shoulder. Though it felt otherwise, the skin was unbroken, so the only effect the spell had was to turn the blackened bruise to a more purple-brown mottling.

When he poked at it--the deep jarring ache of it hadn't dulled in the slightest--the semi he sported under his robes bobbed interestedly. Harry's eye twitched and he jerked his collar back into place and stormed out of the bathroom.

 

Back in the kitchen, Harry carefully seated himself at the table and prayed for the meal to be over quickly. He shoveled food into his face without paying attention to its composition simply to avoid talking, answering Bill's questions with as much brevity as he could politely get away with. Thankfully the man's wife was gregarious, taking most of the focus off of the raven.

Harry nearly dragged his two friends up the stairs a quarter hour later and flopped exhaustedly onto Hermione's bed with a pained hiss.

 

"Er, you alright there, mate?" the redhead asked. The two stood in the doorway eyeing the raven wizard warily. After a moment Hermione seemed to shake herself and began casting their standard privacy wards.

"'M fine," Harry grumbled, an odd desperation welling within him. He had to divert their attention; he absolutely wouldn't, couldn't let on about what was happening between him and Tom. "Look, the sooner we can get this Vow over with the better. I can't keep babysitting Tom or I'm going to go mad. He's up to something, I'm sure of it, so we need to get those restrictions in place  _now_ before he has a chance to make a move."

"Can you tell us how it went?" Hermione asked, finishing the last of her wandwork and coming to sit beside him. "He agreed awfully fast..."

 

Harry sighed and tried to come up with something he could tell his expectant friends. Running a hand agitatedly through his hair, he explained, "He figured it out, that I'm the last one. I don't know how."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, reaching out to cup his tense fist. Ron's face was set in a grim line as he crossed his arms and leaned against the windowsill.

"And he was plotting something suspicious while I was talking to him," Harry elaborated about the encounter. "There was a book he was referencing, I couldn't get a good look at it but I think it was called  _Mephistophelian Brews_. Seemed pretty skeevy."

"Mefa-what?" Ron asked dubiously while Hermione's eyes glazed over.

"Oh!" she said after a moment. "I've heard of it, actually. There was a reference to it in  _Moste Pontente Potions_. An obscure dark text to be sure, and not one in the Restricted Section." Her countenance took on a worried cast. "And you didn't see which potion he was looking up?"

Harry shook his head, lips pursed.

Hermione sighed and bit her lip. "Maybe this was a bad idea after all--"

 

"No," the ginger cut in, shaking his head. "This really is the best plan we've got, and it worked, din'nit? We've sacrificed a few more pieces than anticipated, but we still got him in check, yeah?"

Harry gave a half-arsed shrug but Hermione nodded thoughfully, that crease making an appearance between her brows again.

"You're right, of course," she said to Ron. "But if what Harry said is true and he _is_ planning something horrible, then why let us bind him?" The two males could see a million questions burning behind her eyes but had no answers for her. "Of course, this is all still theoretical--he hasn't actually agreed to anything yet. Did you tell him what we actually wanted?" she asked the raven.

"I'm pretty sure he gets the gist of our demands," Harry responded, finally relaxing slightly with the course the conversation was taking.

"Well, the gist won't cut it. The wording is going to be very tricky, so let's get to the details then." 

 

 

The trio worked diligently for the next few hours to draw up a formal contract. Each point had been picked over, dissected, and reworded at least a dozen times before Hermione felt it good enough to copy over to a fresh scroll. To be fair, the witch had done the bulk of the work while the two boys sprawled indolently and verbally contributed their own thoughts and ideas.

"Remember, Harry, this is just a draft. He'd be stupid to agree as is, and from what you've told us about Tom, he is an exceptionally clever man. Let's just see what sorts of amendments he proposes," Hermione instructed seriously.

Harry nodded in understanding as he accepted the scroll. There was a long moment of silence before Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him.

"What?" he muttered defensively, conscience still guilty.

"Er, I thought you said we should do this quick," Ron prompted from where he slouched in the bedside armchair.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said stupidly, shuffling a bit. "Now, then...?" After another awkward moment where Ron began to look puzzled and Hermione's curious gaze narrowed to a suspicious one, the raven scrambled up from the bed and backed away, stomaching dropping.

"Right. Be back soon then." Or so he hoped.

As Hermione opened her mouth to speak Harry activated his invisibility and turned on the spot.

 

 

Kreacher was viciously banging pots and pans together in the kitchen when Harry arrived, ears pressed flat against his flat skull in irritation. Not able to tolerate another earful of vitriol, the raven crept passed and made directly for the study. Trepidation rose up within him, and to his utter dismay his now flaccid member gave a little warning twitch.

He was once again given permission to enter before he'd had a chance to knock, and the scene was much the same as the previous day. Tom sat at his desk, the window propped open behind him and a sweet pre-rain breeze filtering in. As Harry lingered hesitantly in the doorway, a bridle Barred Owl alighted on the sill, missive clutched in its talons. Tom relieved the bird of its burden and added the parchment to the mountain of correspondence on his desk.

After a moment of futile Occumency exercises--his mind was a far cry from calm--Harry reluctantly cleared his throat.

 

"Harry," the other man greeted distractedly, not looking up.

 

Instantaneously fed up with this same old song and dance, Harry stomped forward and slapped the contract down on top of the parchment Tom was currently scribbling on, smudging the wet curvy lines. Those dark eyes looked up through long lashes and Harry's stomach fluttered. "Sign it," he demanded lowly through bared teeth.

Tom merely quirked an eyebrow, laid down his quill, and unrolled the parchment, leaning back in his chair. His pupils moved rapidly over the page and soon a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. A long minute passed while the Dark Lord simply read.

"Grimmauld Place?" the man eventually drawled, eyes still focused on the parchment.

"Yes, I want it back," Harry growled, straightening up and crossing his arms. It had been one of the few requests he'd added to agreement for himself.

"I haven't taken it, you know," Tom said, plucking up his quill and beginning to cross out large sections.

"But your Death Eater's have entry. Tell them to piss off," the raven commanded.

Lord Voldemort huffed, dimple shadowing. He smoothed the contract out on the desk and began to write in between the lines and on the margins. The parchment was soon a mess. "Such a trivial matter doesn't require a formal agreement. It's already yours," the man dismissed, waving a hand. Just then another bird touched down on the windowsill. "Come back in an hour."

Harry bristled, not appreciating in the slightest being treated like a messenger boy. Tom's dismissal was certainly better than his attention though, so Harry stomped back out. After a slit second decision he disapparated at the top of the stairs.

 

 

The raven winced slightly as cold raindrops struck his face.

Looking up at the dilapidated grey building, he swallowed and turned the doorknob, wand drawn. As he stepped inside the threshold, the ghostly dust dervish of Albus Dumbledore began to form, but an uncompromising Finite had it obliterated into a cloud of motes, this time for good.

The silence broken, Walburga Black began her inevitable shrieking monologue. "Filthy half-bloods return! This house will never--"

"Silencio."

 

Harry grinned malevolently as he sauntered forward to stand directly in front of the portrait. He caressed the Death Stick lovingly, deciding which spell to try now that the infamous Madam Black was apparently no longer impervious to his magic. The horrible woman's eyes bugged out of her skull as she screamed mutely at him.

An Evanesco probably would have done the trick but the raven needed more closure than that after such a long and unpleasant history with painting. He looked directly into her eyes and smirked.

"Incendio."

Stumbling back at the ferocity of the flames that shot out of the Elder Wand, he watched gleefully as paint bubbled and canvas burned. As the tendrils of fire began to lick up the drapes he cast an extinguishing charm.

The shrieking bitch was no more; Sirius would have been so thrilled.

Taking in a deep smoky inhale, Harry grinned and looked around. "Home sweet home."

 

 

 

 

 

_Crack!_

Harry dismissed his invisibility simultaneously with his arrival in the study. If he hoped to startle Tom, he was sorely disappointed.

The man merely waved a hand and the altered scroll floated over to the younger wizard. He watched suspiciously for a moment as the Dark Lord affixed another parchment to a waiting Screech Owl, not sparing him a glance.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded acidly.

The owl took off out the open window, tiny droplets just beginning to sprinkle from the grey sky. "I'm sure you'll find out eventually, _Harry_ ," Tom drawled, turning back to the cluttered desk and inking a quill.

Harry scowled and disapparated.

In and out of the man's presence in under thirty seconds though, he'd chalk up as a win.

 

 

 

 

 

Hermione ushered him directly upstairs and snatched the contract out of his hands. As she unrolled the parchment her eyebrows flew up to her hairline. Pupils flickering back and forth fast enough to make Harry dizzy, her brows quickly reversed down into a fierce frown.

"What's the matter--" Ron began, looking concerned.

Both boys jumped when the witch abruptly threw back her curly mane and let out a hair-raising cackle. Harry exchanged disturbed glances with the wide-eyed redhead.

"Oh, nice try," Hermione scoffed, amber eyes aflame as she bolted to her tiny desk and began scribbling wildly on a fresh sheaf, hunched over instead of bothering to sit.

"Er, Hermione--" Harry began.

"Give me an hour," she cut in distractly, waving a dismissive hand over her shoulder. Harry frowned but Ron just shrugged at him. Leaving the witch in her element, the boys left to pass the time with a game of wizard's chess in the downstairs sitting room.

 

 

 

 

 

_Crack!_

Tom held out a hand, a steaming teacup in the other. Harry spitefully tossed the scroll on the desk instead.

The new parchment was soon covered in just as many scribbles as the last. Harry shifted from foot to foot for a few awkward moments, irritation rising. "Shall I give you an hour then?" he sneered facetiously.

"Please," Tom drawled, sipping at his tea.

Harry ground his teeth and turned on the spot. 

 

 

 

 

 

Looking about the dim and dusty kitchen of Grimmauld Place, Harry briefly considered calling Kreacher. He ultimately decided against it though; prisoner or not, the raven felt better with someone guarding Voldemort at all times, at least until his metaphorical cage was constructed.

He'd investigated the old house from top to bottom during his earlier visit, and though the place was devoid of intruders and nothing seemed to be missing, the entire place had obviously been tossed a while back. Furniture lay on its side and belongings were scattered across the floor, all covered in dust and not recently disturbed.

A bit of cleanup was in order.

Harry began in the basement, the Elder Wand making short work of the mess. As mildew evaporated and knicknacks zoomed back to their resting places, the young wizard felt a sense of calm control blanket him, a feeling of accomplishment that had eluded him for far too long. Strange though it may have been, going through the motions of putting  _his_ house and  _his_ things in order restored a peace of mind and confidence that he sorely needed.

Though he had meant to simply tidy up a bit--return Grimmauld to a liveable standard--he eventually found himself on the top floor, staring blankly at the door to Sirius's old room. A quick Tempus had him cursing in alarm. More than two hours had passed.

 

 

 

 

 

_Crack!_

"I was beginning to think you'd gotten cold feet," Tom remarked. He had his bare feet propped up on the desk and appeared to be casually absorbed in a book, sleeves rolled up and strands of hair hanging over his brow. Harry blushed unwittingly and looked away.

"Got a bit distracted. Your minions ransacked my house," the raven grumbled, looking anywhere but those bare feet and exposed forearms.

Tom glanced up, eyes raking over the smaller man's form before an eyebrow quirked. Harry folded his arms awkwardly over his chest and glanced down at himself.

"Shite," the raven muttered under his breath, summoning his wand. His elegant robes were rumbled and grey with dust. With a wave the grime was gone, along with his dignity.

The Dark Lord raised a hand and gestured at his own head, saying with an amused lilt, "You've got a bit..."

Harry scowled and flattened a hand over his hair. His fingers came away sticky with cobwebs, complete with a tiny balled-up dead spider. He gritted his teeth and shook is hand, snapping at the other man, "Are you finished or what?"

"Hardly," Tom purred, floating the scroll over with lazy wave. Harry snatched it out of the air and disapparated.

 

 

 

 

 

_Crack!_

"Eep!"

Emerald eyes narrowed down the barrel of Hermione's wand. He'd bypassed the conventional mode of arrival and appeared directly in the upstairs bedroom of Shell Cottage. Apparently he was getting pretty good at the simultaneous visibility thing, because the witch looked ready to have an aneurysm.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. He could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs.

"How--" she began, but then her wide eyes caught sight of the parchment in his fist. It was flat on the desk within seconds.

Ron burst into the room, wand drawn, before coming up short. "Blimey mate, give a bloke a heart attack, why don't ya?" He tucked his wand back into his pocket and closed the door. "How'd you do that, anyways? I thought there were anti-apparition wards here?"

Harry began to explain what little he knew about the cloak when Hermione's indignant "Hah!" brought that train of thought to a halt.

"What is it?" the raven asked as both boys wandered over to read over her shoulders.

"Oh, you didn't tell me that he was  _funny_ , Harry," Hermione chuckled darkly.

Harry jerked his head back as though he'd been slapped. "He's not." He and the ginger exchanged disbelieving glances.

Upon closer inspection, the parchment revealed no further clues to the witch's odd behavior. There were places where Hermione's neat and angular handwriting was crossed out, replaced by a curving scrawl, but none of the words seemed important. Tom had changed 'without exception' to 'except in the following circumstances'; generalized terms became specific examples and vice versa; the phrase ' _void ab initio'_ was tacked onto a clause near the bottom. Quite frankly Harry couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"Er, 'Mione," Ron asked worriedly, "everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, of course," she muttered, quill flying and an odd, slightly scary gleam in her eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

It was nearing half eight when Harry apparated again into the study at Riddle Manor, beginning to feel bone weary. He'd made nearly a half dozen round trips already with a few therapeutic cleaning sprees in between, and all of the hustle and bustle was catching up with him. His traitorous body couldn't even muster the twisted interest in Voldemort's presence that he had been battling with all day. It was very much a relief; the whole situation was confusing, disturbing, and exhausting.

Tom had finally closed the window, fat drops of precipitation splattering against the glass in a soothing cacophony. The man stood in front of the fireplace now, shoulder leaning casually against the mantle and a tumbler of amber liquid dangling from his lax fingers. Dark flame-reflecting eyes rooted Harry to the spot. 

The longer they stared at one another, the more Harry's hard-earned tranquility cracked. He thrust out the scroll. "Sign it."

The fire crackling and popping in the grate was the only sound for another long moment before Tom finally pushed off of the wall. His unnaturally warm fingers caressed Harry's as he took hold of the parchment, and the raven snatched his hand back as though burned. He backed up a step, pulse suddenly hammering, and prepared to leave again.

When the Dark Lord reached the desk and pressed a quill to the parchment, however, Harry paused. Even from his position several paces away, he could see the words  _'Tom Morvolo Riddle'_ in shining loopy cursive at the bottom of the parchment.

A wandless, wordless drying charm rippled over the page, and then the rolled scroll was offered back to Harry.

"The Vow?" Tom prompted quietly, features intense but unreable. He turned to face the younger wizard directly, dark eyes boring into emerald as he lifted his glass and took a sip.

Harry shut his open mouth and tore his eyes away from the bobbing Adam's apple. His abdomen started to feel tight again as his mind began to go blank.

"Uh, hold that thought," he said faintly, and disappeared with a  _pop_.

 

 

_Crack!_

Ron and Hermione jolted and aborted grabbing for their wands. Harry simply stood there dumbly for a moment before unrolling the contract and displaying the signature at the bottom.

His friends seemed a little shell-shocked as well.

"How do we do the Vow?" Harry inquired.

Hermione's brows descended and she glanced worriedly at Ron out of the corner of her eye. The redhead caught her look and immediately glowered. "Absolutely not," Ron told her. "I'll do it."

The witch's lips twisted in displeasure and she took a moment to formulate an argument. Harry headed her off.

"Do what?" he asked impatiently, feeling a little out of the loop.

"An Unbreakable Vow requires three people, Harry. The two parties making the agreement, and an officiator to facilitate and cast," Hermione explained.

"And there's no need to put yourself at risk," Ron growled, ears turning red. "I'll go back with Harry and do it."

Hermione opened her mouth to lash the redhead with her wickedly sharp tongue, crease sharp between her brows, but Harry interrupted again.

"Woah," he said, palms out in placation. "No one is going back to Riddle Manor with me," the raven stated firmly, mind abuzz with new information. There was no way he'd put either of his friends in danger by taking them there. For all Harry knew they wouldn't even be able to get past the wards. And if they did, what if Tom had something nasty up his sleeve, or what if another unwelcome visitor showed up?

"But Harry--" his friends chorused, but he shook his head.

"No, we need to do this on our own turf. And if one of you is coming with me, we need backup in place in case things go pear-shaped. We _cannot_ underestimate him," Harry said grimly, emerald eyes sparking to life.

 

 

 

 

It took another twenty minutes of heated debate and a hasty firecall before Harry made it back to the Manor. The study was empty.

"Tom?" Harry called, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. No response.

He stepped out into the hallway, wand drawn. "Tom?" he said again, approaching the right wing. As he drew near the master bedroom, he heard the faint sounds of spraying water.

Harry crept carefully into the room, eyeing the ajar bathroom door suspiciously.

"Tom!" he hollered in aggravation, not daring to get any closer.

What sounded like a shower cut off and then Harry heard wet footsteps approaching the door. The raven retreated to the gaping hole in the wall and hid his wand behind his back just to be safe.

The man in question appeared in the doorway, towel scrubbing through his hair rather than covering the important parts of his anatomy. Harry flushed and looked determinedly over the man's shoulder, unwilling to turn his back for even a moment. A slight stirring beneath his robes made him grit his teeth as a vivid and unwelcome flashback of Tom fisting himself seared itself behind his eyeballs.

"Grimmauld," he barked, eyes fixed somewhere near the ceiling. "You know where it is?"

Tom chuckled lowly and leaned against the doorway, running a hand over his now smooth jaw. He hummed in affirmation.

"Be there in an hour.  _Alone_ ," Harry snapped, and wasted no time in retreating.

 

 

 

 

 

Harry paced holes in the rug in the parlor of his home while Hermione sat tensely on the sofa, running nervously through the plan for the third time in a row. The room was still a little threadbare, but brighter and less grimy than it had been since the days that the Weasley matriarch had waged war upon it with wand and broom. The homey atmosphere did nothing to quell either's anxiety.

"Ron, Bill, and Remus are just on the other side of the fire and will check in in ten minute intervals," Hermione recited, mostly to herself, as she fidgeted with the sleeve of her robes. Two identical copies of the contract sat on the coffee table before her, her's and Ron's and Harry's signatures branded across the bottom of the parchments as well.

No one involved much liked this plan, especially Bill and Remus who were kept in the dark on exactly which wizard they were attempting an alliance with, but the fact of the matter was that they were on their own. Dumbledore was gone and Harry led the side of the Light now, like it or not. He very much felt that the world was resting on his shoulders.

It didn't help that he was pretty sure Tom had something up his sleeve; he couldn't imagine that this meeting would be easy.

 

"Harry," Hermione said abruptly, eyes too wide in her pale face. "What if all this was a mistake? The contract, it was so wordy...does it even help us at all? And the Vow, I--" her breath hitched. "We shouldn't be trading this, we are supposed to defeat him, not ensure his survival, and--"

She broke off from her rapid-fire gush of words with a little sob.

"Hey," Harry soothed, sitting down next to her and pulling the distraught witch into his arms. Her fears were valid and mirrored his own, but that wasn't the problem here. He'd seen the same panic leading up to exams, sure she'd fail even though she knew every answer like the back of her hand. "No second guessing now. We've all made our beds, and now we have to lie in them. If this all turns out to be a colossal cock-up, then we'll fix it. We always do." He pressed his lips to her temple as she melted into his side. "We won't let him try anything funny while he's here, and that's our only job for tonight. We'll worry about the rest tomorrow."

She pressed her face into his neck for a moment, breathing in the calming scent of her best friend and pseudo-brother, before slowly extracting herself from his arms. She gave him a wavering smile and smoothed down her robes, tucking an errant stand of hair that had fallen from its twist back behind her ear. "Yes," she breathed, formidable defenses reforming rapidly right in front of his eyes. "We're Gryffindors; this is what we're good at." She gave him a faintly playful look. "When did you get to be the wise one, Harry Potter?"

 

He grinned and made to retort but a knock on the front door had both of their blood freezing.

Harry whipped his head around to look at the clock. Ten on the dot. He swallowed thickly, adrenaline already spiking.

Wide amber eyes connected with his own and he gave a grim nod. "Stay behind me," he warned, and they both stood.

Creeping down the hall and into the entryway, both had their wands drawn. Harry reached for the doorknob and hesitated, too-loud breathing and the dull roar of rain pounding against the roof the only sounds in the heart-stopping silence, before he wrenched it open.

 

 

Tom leant casually against the porch banister, hands tucked into his denim pockets. His eyes were dark as they flicked to the witch halfway down the hall before coming to rest solidly on the Chosen One. Droplets of water plastered strands of black hair to his brow and the upper portion of his plain blue v-neck tee was soaked and clinging to his chiseled torso.

"Harry," the man intoned with a small nod, pink lips curving.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to kudo if you enjoyed this work--it's like monopoly money for authors and and I wanna be rich bitch!
> 
> Comments are also like little points of starlight during my day.


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